beckoning to me; because they are tormenting us, pure and
simple, these men are tormenting us, they just do it, as if we
are so much trash for where they want to stick it and it is
simple in the end and they all get to live no matter what harm
they do or if we hurt or how much, all these guys live, they do;
face it; you can take some actual person and mess her body up
so bad it’s all deformed out o f its real form and you can put
things up her and in her and you can hurt her, shred her, burn
her, tortures that are done like roping her breasts, and it’s
okay, even funny, even if they do it to babies or even if they
beat you or even i f they put things in you or no matter what
they do, it’s over and tom orrow comes and they go on and on
and on and they don’t get stopped, no one stops them; and
people ju st walk by the girls under glass; or just ignore the
infants who grow ed up, the suicidal infants who can’t breathe
but are trying to talk; or the women who got beat; no one
stops them; it’s true, they don’t get stopped; and it’s true,
though not recognized, that you do got to stop them, like stop
the War, or stop slavery; you have to stop them; whatever’s
necessary; because it’s a crisis because they are tormenting us; I
gave m y uncle cancer but it’s too late, too slow, and you don’t
know who they are, the particular ones; and even if there’s
laws by the time they have hurt you you are too dirty for the
law; the law needs clean ones but they dirty you up so the law
w o n ’t take you; there’s no crimes they committed that are
crimes in the general perception because we don’t count as to
crimes, as I have discovered time and time again as I try to
think i f what he did that hurt me so bad was a crime to anyone
or was anything you could tell someone about so they would
care; for you; about you; so you was human. But if he did it to
you, you know him; I know; this Linda knows; the infants
know; the day comes; we know; each one o f them has one o f
us who knows; at least one; maybe dozens; but at least one.
When the Buddhists were burning themselves you couldn’t
convince anyone anything was wrong in Vietnam; they
couldn’t see it; they saw the fire; and you couldn’t forget the
fire; and I’m convinced that the fire made the light to see by; so
later, we saw. N o w there’s nothing w rong either; nothing
nobody can see; each day all these thousands o f people, men
and women, walk past the women under glass, the specimens,
and they don’t see nothing wrong, they don’t see no human o f
any sort or that it’s wrong that our kind are under glass,
painted, bloated cadavers for sex with spread legs, eyes open,
glassy, staring like the dead; smiling; painted lips; purple;
lynched or pissed on; or on our knees; I will die to get her o ff
her knees; sperm covering us like puke; and w e’re embalmed,
a psychotic’s canvas; eventually fucked, in any orifice; someday they’ll do the sockets o f the eyes. It’s the church to our pain; a religion o f hate with many places to pray; a liturgy o f
