God why are your eyes so fat you could fit seven copy machines in them! But carve your eyes out using white acrylics and they’d do no less than destroy the machinery. Symbolic of truth out to get a modernizing world. Eyes equal authenticity. 
Why does he say this?
Why does your tongue poke metaphors into me each thrust a rhinoceros tusk taking out ants minuscule compared to your masculinity. Symbolic of men making money moves with words.
Words equal control (Margaret Atwood implies so).
Too many allusions of her fill the room where I store the copy machines, a whore to their ways printing printing printing. Printing three times equals holy trinity son spirit dad something along those lines. I am just a woman where would I learn your proper words? 
Words equal control.
The men circle my mind with father taunting their language just out of my reach. 
I just keep banging copy machines till I break.
Banging with my fists tight, undaunted. Who would I have punched before? 
Would.
I would if I could. W is softer than C women are W, mouth formed in eternally behaved rounded out sounds. 
Words equal control. 
Would does not equal could, but some letters do.
Words would control could pass through the left side of my brain.
Words would: a phrase of potential energy. Preparing always for the next flight, the next fight, never taking the first punch. Words would take the hit if women could have control. If control could.
Control could: a phrase of kinetic energy. Men grabbing cement while it’s still wet, covering her concupiscent curves. Working high up getting high off control.
So I keep banging copy machines.