Auschwitz called
Are you a bitter, bitter brute?
Hitler, the Jewish killer
With blood around him
Yet never on his hands.
Does the idea of me thrill you
Do you thrill me?
I see.
I'm flying
But you're not here
In this glee
With me.
Time called
Give it all back
She said, give it back to me.
I can't see
I can't see you next to me.
Reduce me to dust
With your canon, I'll lust for you.
You brute
I've no sympathy for you
Silence is silenced
Standing there, next to you.
Swine, you say,
You fan me with your knife
Prized and poised
It's your favorite possession.
Do I impress you?
Unmoved and sinful to your tasteful ways
I'm just too much for you
Or too little, if that's not true.
For a brute, like you
I hope I'm just enough
For you.
Move me
Like those all surrounding you
I'll be convinced.
Elegant, I'll be extravagant
As I'm persuaded and disillusioned
By your peculiar and undeniable
Rude awakenings awaken in me
My body moves against me
And for a brute, like you
Standing there laughing above me
You swallow me
I hope you choke on me.

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.

God's lioness,
How one we grow,
Pivot of heels and knees! -- The furrow

Splits and passes, sister to
The brown arc
Of the neck I cannot catch,

Berries cast dark
Hooks ----

Black sweet blood mouthfuls,
Something else

Hauls me through air ----
Thighs, hair;
Flakes from my heels.

Godiva, I unpeel ----
Dead hands, dead stringencies.

And now I
Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.
The child's cry

Melts in the wall.
And I
Am the arrow,

The dew that flies,
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red

Eye, the cauldron of morning.

First, are you our sort of a person?
Do you wear
A glass eye, false teeth or a crutch,
A brace or a hook,
Rubber breasts or a rubber crotch,

Stitches to show something's missing? No, no? Then
How can we give you a thing?
Stop crying.
Open your hand.
Empty? Empty. Here is a hand

To fill it and willing
To bring teacups and roll away headaches
And do whatever you tell it.
Will you marry it?
It is guaranteed

To thumb shut your eyes at the end
And dissolve of sorrow.
We make new stock from the salt.
I notice you are stark naked.
How about this suit----

Black and stiff, but not a bad fit.
Will you marry it?
It is waterproof, shatterproof, proof
Against fire and bombs through the roof.
Believe me, they'll bury you in it.

Now your head, excuse me, is empty.
I have the ticket for that.
Come here, sweetie, out of the closet.
Well, what do you think of that ?
Naked as paper to start

But in twenty-five years she'll be silver,
In fifty, gold.
A living doll, everywhere you look.
It can sew, it can cook,
It can talk, talk , talk.

It works, there is nothing wrong with it.
You have a hole, it's a poultice.
You have an eye, it's an image.
My boy, it's your last resort.
Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.

Revolving in oval loops of solar speed,
Couched in cauls of clay as in holy robes,
Dead men render love and war no heed,
Lulled in the ample womb of the full-tilt globe.

No spiritual Caesars are these dead;
They want no proud paternal kingdom come;
And when at last they blunder into bed
World-wrecked, they seek only oblivion.

Rolled round with goodly loam and cradled deep,
These bone shanks will not wake immaculate
To trumpet-toppling dawn of doomstruck day :
They loll forever in colossal sleep;
Nor can God's stern, shocked angels cry them up
From their fond, final, infamous decay.

Brendan Owens Jul 20

He called me a kid.
And I frowned to myself,
Disappointed that this was his insult.
I had hoped for a deeper cut,
A greater injury,
But on the surface I just bled.
A scar was not left,
And my blood clotted not long afterwards.

I wanted him to hurt me.
As bad as he possibly could.
If he was going to hit me,
He should just do it hard.
Harder and harder,
Until I scar and bleed inside.
Does he want me to remember him?
I know a sure way.
Punch me in my face,
And just walk away.

Another chapter ends
Just the same, another begins.
The prologue long past finished
The intro, and it, just memories.
Brought up then and again,
But only for a helping hand.

And so, another chapter begins.
Much to the contrary of the last,
(A bang was not the preferable route to suite this story)
A slow, waning, emotional start was the key to this one.

The contents of this particular story may have been that of another, once.
And if this were to be fact,
That story of the past might go something of this tact:
Biographical, in essence,
Meaningful, when observed in depth,
And honest, as a biographical story may best be brought up.

So, with the start of this chapter entering it's beginning phase,
Encouragement of an open mind and an open heart proceeds,
But this is not a warning,
For your expectation is what truly succeeds...

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