lover, slow, one who lasts, one who takes time; and this is real;
this happened and this will last forever, because I am just
someone like anyone and there’s things too bad for me and I
didn’t know you could be lying flat, blue skin with blood from
the man with the knife, to find love again, someone cutting his
w ay into you; and I’m just someone and it’s just flesh down
there, tender flesh, somewhere you barely touch and you
w ouldn’t cut it or wound it; no one would; and I have pain all
over me but pain ain’t the word because there’s no word, I
have pain on me like it’s my skin but pain ain’t the word and it
isn’t m y skin, blue with red. I’m just some bleeding thing cut
up on the floor, a pile o f something someone left like garbage,
some slaughtered animal that got sliced and sucked and a man
put his dick in it and then it didn’t matter if the thing was still
warm or not because the essential killing had been done and it
was just a matter o f time; the thing would die; the longer it
took the worse it would be; which is true. He had a good time.
He did. He got up. He was friendly. He got dressed. I wasn’t
barely alive. I barely moaned or whispered or cried. I didn’t
move. He left. The gang was somewhere outside. He left the
door open, wide open, and it was going to be a hundred years
before I could crawl enough to close it. There was daylight
streaming in. It was tom orrow. T om orrow had finally come,,
a long tom orrow, an eternal tom orrow , I’m always here, the
girl lying here, can’t run, can’t crawl, where’s freedom now,
can’t move, can’t crawl, dear God, help me, someone, help
me, this is real, help me; please, help me. I hate God; for
making the pain; and making the man; and putting me here;
under them all; anyone that wants.
S E V E N
In 1969, 1970, 1971
(Age 22, 23, 24, 2$)
Yeah, I go somewhere else, a new country, not the fucking
U . S . A ., somewhere I never been, and I’m such a sweet genius
o f a girl that I marry a boy. N ot some trash bourgie; a sweet
boy w ho’d done time; I rescued him from jail once, I took all
my money and I gave it to some uniformed pig for him; a
hostage, they had kidnapped him, taken him out o f his bed and
out o f where he lived in handcuffs in the middle o f the night
and they kept him; I mean, he just fucking disappeared and it
was that he was locked up. They let me in the prison, the great
gray walls that are built so high and so cold you can’t help but
feel anyone in them is a tragic victim buried alive. You
w ouldn’t be right but that’s what you’d feel. Cold stone, a
washed-out gray. I was a child standing there, just a girl,
money in my hand, love in my heart, telling the guard I
