I am the Chicken on the Chopping Block

By Sandra Völker

Here goes the head.
But never mind, the jewels are just fine. 

Chop, chop, chop. 

Around I turn my chopped off head,
squawking after Master Newton
who placed me among these naked bodies,
naked breasts and eyes and pussies
that glamour sharply from the stage
of a certain time and place. 

I am exposed, no skin, no shame.
Look at my innards!
Without protection I bare it all.
It is not pretty, not even real,
so take that knife and

Chop, chop, chop. 

The bush so prominent in all these pictures
below the nipples and the high-end face.
As I said, these are pictures of a certain time and place. 

Can you smell the whiff of crumbling walls
of the city that expelled my master?

A gust of nicotine blown from dark red lips,
razor sharp edges in black and white
that promise a future less hard than the past. 

Chop, chop, chop.
I am the chicken on the chopping block.
Gutted,
broiled
&
oiled. 

Sexed-up and juxtaposed against perfect beauties and curves.
Ideal femininity
Seen through masculinity
Fuck correctness, politically. 

I am the most intriguing specimen by far,
a headless chicken in a hedonistic world less grey,
the Bulgari jewels are mine, come what may. 

Chop, chop, chop.

You an find out more about the exhibition by visiting the Kunstforum Wien website here.