reached fifteen with desire to be free love of momma turned to love for T-B consume me cold lover with your hot grip I’ll cough and wheeze lie back and waste away to nothing I’ll go easy just please take me with you got to be free |
| May 7, 1981 |
| bio-fragments |
I. |
the women sick of these women all of them first the mother mother smother death in the womb then grandmother kissed-worshipped in her flowery coffin and her eternal death-grip on her son my father (he no talk) then foster-grandmother foster-sister cousins foster- Godsisters and aunts with big wet sloppy kisses and the little girl I messed with me only four she three-and-a-half and her father the only man and I would gladly have been through with men forever yelling at me like death was next he found out (but how?) I ran ran ran instinct to momma she was nice no little girls, she said obedience born of hopeless devotion I believed I had no little girls only Sheila and Cecelia June and Edwina and Diane little girlfriends and no boyfriends (that is to say: no friends who were boys) no, not really oh, there was the fellow who kissed me big wet sloppy hateful aunty-kisses I hate it I hate it and these women saying he loves you it’s all right I hate it I hate it but momma always momma had to climb in her lap to kiss her like I wanted mommy I love you I love you kissing her face her neck her arms I love you I love you little hands on big warm ears kissing her nose her cheeks oh God it’s not dead she still owns me imprisoned by my nine-year-old passion |
II. |