remorse and I cannot waste m y time with someone insufficient; she has to deserve me too; I want respect; there’s a piece missing in her— what’s hunger, what’s poor; it’s the pieces I
got; I can’t explain how what’s a blind spot in her blindsides
me; I can’t have her talk
w ay and I measure in sucking dicks, the economy as I see it,
how long on your knees, how many times, equals a meal,
makes the rent. I ain’t saying it to her, it’s an inchoate rage, but
I turn over inside; Sensei eats shit. I say nothing, because she’s
an innocent, she counts money dry, not drenched in sperm. I
cut her o ff without another word. She is out o f my life. I don’t
look back. I paid, sister, I am paid up in dues well into the next
century, I have clear priorities, she was number two, pretty
high on the fucking list; number one is that I am writing a plan
for revenge, a justice plan, a justice poem, a justice map, a
geography o f justice; I am martial in my heart and military in
my mind; I think in strategy and in poems, a daughter o f
Guevara and Whitman, ready to take to the hills with a cosmic
vision o f what’s crawling around down on the ground; a
daughter with an overview; the big view; a daughter with a
new practice o f righteous rage, against what ain’t named and
ain’t spoken so it can’t be prosecuted except by the one it was
done to who knows it, knows him; I’m inventing a new
practice o f random self-defense; I take their habits and
characteristics seriously, as enemy, and I plan to outsmart
them and win; they want to stay anonymous, monster
shadows, brutes, king pricks, they want to strike like lightning, any time, any place, they want to be sadistic ghosts in the dark with penises that slice us open, they want us dumb and
mute and vacant, robbed o f words, nothing has a name, not
anything they do to us, there’s nothing because w e’re nothing;
then they must mean they want us to strike them down,
indiscriminate, in the night; we require a sign language o f
rebellion; it’s the only chance they left us. Y ou may find me
one who ain’t guilty but you can’t find me two. I have a vision,
far into the future, a plan for an arm y for justice, a girls’ army,
subversive, on the ground, down and dirty, no uniforms, no
rank, no orders from on high, a martial spirit, a cadre o f
honor, an arm y o f girls spreading out over the terrain, I see
them m oving through the streets, thick formations o f them in
anarchy and freedom on cement. I keep practicing horse
position and sit-ups and I kick good; I can kick to the knee and
I can kick to the cock but I can’t kick to the solar plexus and I
can’t kick his fucking head o ff but I can compensate with my
intelligence and with m y right thinking if I can isolate it, in
other words, rescue it from the nightmares; liberate it; deep
liberation. I practice on m y wall to get m y kick higher, never
touching the wall, Zen karate, a new dimension in control and
a new level o f aggression, a new arena o f attack as if I am
walking up the wall without touching it; and I will do the same
to them; Zen killing. M y fist ain’t good enough but m y thighs
