Zygote Tankas

Vol XXI: Zygote Tankas


Zygotes had problems

coming out of placental matter. Their old lovers walked down town streets with tattoo sleeves. The thought of needlework made the womb ache. Vaginal flesh ripped around their faces. They looked like a hunchbacked pubis.

If the zygotes could, they struck fingers down their throats. Thus, the birth of an eating disorder. Who cared if it started at an embryonic stage. Even wormholes had to be born. Some fetuses preferred mashed arsenic bananas. Others ate rotten sumac trees. They swore it was some kind of porridge.

A mother ate too much cream cheese mixed with fresh parsley. So the witch came and stole the fetus away. The zygote went kicking. It kept spitting up acidic vinegar. The witch had a lovely face but her body was made up of many thousands of salt-clogged slugs.

Poor zygote. She was so lovely but kept biting her tongue. Her eyes welled up with blood thorns. She rivaled the scariest lizards. Even the ones that squirted body fluids out of their eyes. She filled princes' glasses with the nostril faucet. The elixir had a delicious sugar flavor at the base of the wine.

Several fetuses tried to ask for the zygote's hand in marriage. She wasn't ready for such a commitment. She wanted to wrap herself in briers. The thorns pierced her thighs until she bled amniotic fluid. The mother slithered over to drink it. The witch sat eating a bouquet of miscarriage-inducing herbs. The zygote looked on and vomited.




They grew green heads.

The placentas. Not the zygotes. Not this time. The vagina was filled with a cannibalistic shrubbery.

The zygotes had to trim the leaves. All the brown bits and then the wooden stems. Mother's orders. She wanted her pubis clean. It was the only way a wolf father would come love her. Even then she wasn't sure. So the zygotes had to scream her inner womb just in case.

All the cleaning made them angry. They were tired of using razor blades and paint thinners on such sensitive organs. But mother insisted and they had no choice. She was feeding them after all. If she wanted pain, it was hers.

Of course, there were easier ways. The wolves specialized in a gynecological cleansing. Just by using their teeth, a woman was guaranteed to become thirteen times cleaner. But it was expensive. It cost a cut of ribs. And a bit of a matriarch's roast. The wolves found that paternal meat was a bit tougher than their stomachs liked.

So the zygotes had to keep scrubbing. They had pumice stone exfoliators in their palms. The rubbing smelled like lemongrass despite the mother being allergic. She wondered why her insides were so tender. The zygotes cut off thicker slabs than they were supposed to. They hid the evidence in their stomachs. The wolves smelled it and kept sniffing around.




Zygotes wore red heels

to tempt the wolves. They clacked around the forest. Some wore hoods others did not. They searched for some grandmothers' meat. It was hard to walk because their half-made legs did not fill the shoes.

Around midnight, their necks sprouted wolf heads. It was a startling transformation. The hunting dogs stopped beneath a tree to watch. It was definitely a wolf's head, only without a mouth. But the zygotes didn't need to eat just yet. They had a cord that tied them to a food source. Mother kept their stomachs full.

Then a man came to eat them. Sexually, not the other way. The zygotes squirmed against his tongue. They didn't know anything about orgasms. Not like the red hood girls did.

Even the wolves took part in the naughtiness. They had tongues made for these things. These embraces, desirous lapping. The grandmother stood beneath a tree to watch with a vibrator in her hand. She pressed it to her genitals because it was fun to hum beneath the machine. It was ridiculous that wolves and plastic-metal things knew to caress a woman. The men should be jealous with such inability.

The zygotes each made their own dildoes with tree limbs and a turning mechanism. They fit the creations into their placenta. The resistance wasn't hard because of the amniotic fluid. The mothers gagged with each abdominal cramping. The climaxes felt foreign. Zygotes made out with their wolves and then hooked up with the grandmother figures. They had a thing for fur and hunchbacks.




Zygotes were preferable

to actual children. While children were demanding with their peer pressured sayings, the zygotes simply craved. It was a liberating time for all womb occupants. The zygote and mother wanted simultaneously. These small creatures didn't have any way of grabbing knives.

The mothers were glad the zygotes couldn't wander into forests. They lacked long braids for horny princes to climb. Sexually ambiguous water spirits would leave them alone. A cell cluster just wasn't worth anything anymore. Not when fully developed children could be used for so much. Some of the older ones even had breasts so the men didn't feel so foolish. Who wanted a thing in diapers or with a feeding tube?

Maybe the wolves. But only because the zygotes were dressed in red and the canines didn't know any better. Or maybe the hag woman down the path was hungry. She liked amniotic fluid in her chicken broth. Or children's broth.

Which ever. Nothing mattered because zygotes were hanging from trees ripe for the picking. Like apples with faces. Or strange banana peels. Rotten black with red and beige striping. An exotic hybrid. Capped with a red cape the wolves went crazy for.

The zygotes went into everyone's banana bread. They had a delicious saline flavor. Their texture was like a ripened plantain. No one minded the lack of sugar. Everything could be caramelized. Even embryonic zygotes. Especially those.  



Even the wolves were

hungry for the zygotes. The red girls started it. They carried pickled embryos in their baskets. The jars were scattered through the forest. The first one to break the glass got to eat.

Grandmother cut her tongue on the hygienic rim. The vinegar still tasted great. It was thick with amniotic mucus. Several gynecologists wearing wolf masks gathered to take a swig from the jar. Just what we study for, they said and sliced their tongues on the lid. The obstetrician cousins grabbed the spicy zygote peppers out. They dangled a leg over their open mouths and bit down.

This happened again and again. Sandwich shops included pickled zygote on the daily menu. Everyone liked the kick cartilaginous spines gave to the sub sandwiches. There was a certain crunch vegetables couldn't give. Zygote: the perfect sandwich filler.

So the wombs became a production shop. The mothers lay down on the cutting board and let the sandwich makers slice away. The zygotes were packaged by the slice, ring, and dice. Gourmet shops offered several jars of the whole variety. Since the eyes were barely formed, no one had to worry about an acidic jelly squirt when biting into the soft skull. It was a concern most people had when eating zygote for the first time. Especially the mothers.

They had never eaten their own children before. Only in fairy tales and even then, they were framed. A smear of blood around their mouths even though their stomachs remained empty. There were no X-rays back then to prove children were excepted for their digestive tracts. Only a mother's word against the wife's. Because one had a voice and the other was a mute. Like the zygotes but not as delicious.




Someone built a metal

womb. The zygotes fit in and came right out. The metal expanded with the zygotes' skeletons. They were fat embryos but the surrogate mothers were fatter. Some thought the metal would be too cold but it was actually heated to just above body temperature.

The better to incubate you, my dear, the metal mother said, petting the zygotes through the breaks in her stomach. She had a woman's face and a steel uterus. From time to time, it squeezed when unnecessary. The zygotes reached up her throat to kiss her breasts. Her nipples were made of actual flesh. The milk filtering through was bottled. She kept a refrigerator in her spine.

The zygotes wanted their milk freezing cold. They wouldn't put ice cubes in it. Nothing watered down was allowed. Just a glass bottle without a straw. The zygotes drank greedily and spit all over the cogs.

Their saliva burned holes in the faux pelvis. The metal skeleton screamed. Her skinned head pulsed. There was a fake heart somewhere in there. You could see the beating all over the limbs. The iron pieces hummed. She was a beautiful woman when she was in pain but her body wasn't equipped for the sex act.

Because of that, she relied on artificial insemination. Titanium needles injected the egg and sperm combination into her rubber uterus. Crochet hooks pieced the ends together, forming a loose cervix. The woman glared at the doctors. The zygote spread out within her. It made her body lose its shape. The zygote poked its head through the cut open navel.




It was a pity that the

zygotes had to worry so much about wolves. Sometimes, the hunters had fish heads. They smelled like rotten tuna. Someone was rude and said it smelled like a woman. The zygotes took offense and hit the misogynist head with a battle ax.

The zygotes were proponents of female rights. Reproductive and otherwise. Even abortion. They knew death was inevitable. At least in the womb, they barely felt it coming. The metal women killed them often although always be accident. Something would push together too much and squeeze the zygote.

Other women kept the zygotes in cages. They fed them pureed placenta like a bird. They took the first bites and vomited back up. It was a terrible sight. The thin flesh around the neck made it easy to see the masticated food move up and down.

No one realized how hungry the zygotes were. Someone slipped a finger into the womb and the zygotes bit down. They chewed the finger right to the knuckle. Why are you in here, the zygotes screamed. Their stomachs gurgled. They weren't used to hunting flesh alone. There was usually a mother to bring them their liquefied meals.

The zygotes were the ones punished. It didn't matter that foreign hands were destroying the uterine sanctity. The metal mothers would not allow any gnawing to go on inside of them. They were used to being touched against their will anyway. They were designed to be reproduction factories. As long as the appropriate things were placed inside, the metallic pubis would squeeze something back out. The zygotes mourned because their pregnancy cravings were often ignored.



Zygotes liked swimming

in caffeinated beverages. Soda and coffee. Hard teas. Chocolate brews. Things with a lot of flavor.

The caffeine made them jittery. Other chemicals did, too. Nicotine. Sulfates. The zygotes would ricochet off the uterine walls until their heads swelled. Then the mothers swelled, too. Late in pregnancy, they began resembling monster zygotes.

It was sad to see the change. The husbands were often alarmed. The women's sexual appetites also became more vigorous. They charged at penises and cucumbers alike. Insertion became a priority.

This was not the females' faults. They couldn't resist what the zygotes wanted. If the zygotes wanted sex, that is what the women sought out. The zygotes dreamed of those sniffing wolves. They were starving for an orgasm. That was what grandma kept in her boiling pot. It was allowed to stew beside the little girls' heads.

That was the problem with the girls' red hoods. Their insides were beautiful. They wore bright red to keep the wolves away. The wolves didn't equate the brilliance with poison. Instead, they thought immediately of menstruation. After that, they breathed in the scent of sex. It was tainted with the muskiness of wet fur.





The zygotes walked to

Wonderland. The hatters were waiting for them with their cups of tea. The zygotes needed sugar now. Such flavors tasted strongly. The queen came to cut their umbilical cords.

The king thought pregnancy was irrelevant. He showed up to kiss the zygote's shells. During harvest moons, the zygotes hatched like snakes. A few were born with their tongues out even though their mouths should have been empty. The metal mothers fed the zygotes' needle thin teeth. They used the points to puncture lactating breasts. The smaller ones preferred tearing testicles in half.

Once, the queen screamed obscenities at the angry diamonds. They were racist against the other suites for having curves. Especially the hearts. The queen took the hatred personally. She used their neck rubs to flavor her afternoon tea.

The zygotes all wanted a taste. A sip of tea. Maybe a second laced with bourbon. The zygotes were early alcoholics. They went for the buzz instead of the taste. The metal mothers said not to drink so quickly but the placenta absorbed everything. The zygotes floated around in their liquored beverages.

They offered Alice a drink but she resisted. Their hope was to get her drunk but the hatter kept her full of cakes. The zygotes were irritated. They hold her down and smeared sumac on her genitals. It itched until her skin came off. The zygotes ate the peeled parts. It tasted like a queen of heart's favorite pepper blend.



The zygotes couldn't

stop reproducing. They bred quickly just by joining their fingers. Their bodies weren't equipped to feed others. The smaller cells tried to attach to the teeny nipple stalks but fell off. The surrogate mothers fed their jaws IV lines.

Alice came along to start a bowling game. The rules were simple. Roll a uterus without a rupture. Even a spare droplet counted as a loss. Keep the tears at a minimum, the mothers said, cradling their vacancies. The zygotes pounded their fragile heels against the uterine walls. The mothers sobbed on diamond trees.

Slowly, the zygotes became trees. Their limbs sprouted branches. Fresh green wick came out of their mouth. The zygotes stared at their foots. They paid close attention to feet.

The sound of flip flop shoes nauseated them. The greener the zygotes became, the more they wanted wholeness. It was a sad thing. Toenails made them sob. Especially painted ones. The zygotes hated such impurities. They climbed into the fresh womb and whimpered as nature closed in around them.

Zygotes fed off broccoli stalks. The fiber caught their throats. They choked three times then suffocated. A serial killer found the dehydrated bodies. He fought the wolves for the lurking spine. It reminded him of a poison coral snake but the wolf thought only of food. Then the grandmother woman appeared and swallowed them both up with her labia.