When I came into power as a writer, and I think this had to do with becoming a mother as well, I could say outrageous things, could proclaim my "endometrium shedding." Could manifest the "crack in the world." I shouted, "You men who came out of my belly, out of my world, BACK OFF!" I could literally stomp & "walk on the periphery of the world." I could—as Sumerian Inanna did—get the male poets (my fathers) intoxicated on alcohol, Methedrine, ecstasy, charm them with my wit, my piety, then seal their secrets. I could name all the various women who have been, to be. Cast a discerning eye at the progressive anthologies of poetry. Are we still having to count the men versus women, and the canon is a lost cause or perhaps it is the battleground? Look at the scarcity of women in any institution, sacred or secular. Keep counting. How many pinks to so many blues? Is language phallogoeentric? Is writing a political act? Do you women writers I’m speaking to feel marginalized? Do you agree, you’d almost have to, dear scholarly sisters, that the experiences of women in and with literature are different from those of men? Much feminist criticism has centered on the misogyny of literary practice—women as angels or monsters, mothers or nuns, daughters or whores—harassment of women in classic & popular male literature and text. You know it: Kerouac, Mailer, Henry Miller, Homer, the Bible, the Koran, the Vinaya, et cetera. But I’d like here to declare an enlightened poetics, an androgynous poetics, a poetics defined by your primal energy not by a heterosexist world that must measure every word, act against itself. Not by a norm that assumes a dominant note subordinating, mistreating, excluding any other possibility. In fact, you could be a man with a "lesbian" consciousness in you, a woman with a gay consciousness inside. I propose a utopian creative field where we are defined by our energy, not by gender. I propose a transsexual literature, a hemaphroditic literature, a transvestite literature, and finally a poetics of transformation beyond gender. That just sings its wisdom. That the body be an extension of energy, that we are not defined by our sexual positions as men or women in bed or on the page. That the page not be empty female awaiting penetration by dark phallic ink-juice. That masculine and feminine energies be perhaps comprehended in the Buddhist sense of Prajna and Upaya, wisdom and skillful means, which exist in all sentient beings. That these energies co-exist and are essential one to the other. That poetry is perceived as a kind of siddhi or magical accomplishment that understands these fundamental energies.
     Perhaps women have the advantage of producing a radically disruptive and subversive kind of writing right now because they are experiencing the current imbalances and contradictions that drive them to it. They are turning to skillful means figuring how to combat assaults on their intelligence and time. She––the practitioner––wishes to explore and dance with everything in the culture which is unsung, mute, and controversial so that she may subvert the existing systems that repress and misunderstand feminine "difference." She’ll take on the subjects of censorship and abortion and sexual harassment. She’ll challenge her fathers, her husband, male companions, spiritual teachers. Turn the language body upside down. What does it look like?

[Anne Waldman. From "Feminafesto." In Kill Or Cure. Penguin Books, 1994.]