Her voice is a demon
I search for it in hell.

I fight the wrong demons
As she destroys my mind.

I take control of it
Before she controls me.

Her voice is in my deepest memories.
I try to forget her only to remember.

Her voice is a demon
I still search for it in hell.

I Don't know anyone anymore,
It's like they've grown up without me.
I wasn't a missing link,
But only a useless one.

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to **** you.
You died before I had time ----
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My ****** friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You ----

Not God but a *******
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the *****.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two ----
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagersnever liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you *******, I'm through.

Compelled by calamity's magnet
They loiter and stare as if the house
Burnt-out were theirs, or as if they thought
Some scandal might any minute ooze
From a smoke-choked closet into light;
No deaths, no prodigious injuries
Glut these hunters after an old meat,
Blood-spoor of the austere tragedies.

Mother Medea in a green smock
Moves humbly as any housewife through
Her ruined apartments, taking stock
Of charred shoes, the sodden upholstery:
Cheated of the pyre and the rack,
The crowd ***** her last tear and turns away.

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,

******-eye
Berries cast dark
Hooks ----

Black sweet blood mouthfuls,
Shadows.
Something else

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

White
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.

My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.

Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon,
And I wear the wry-faced pucker of
The sour lemon moon.

While like an early summer plum,
Puny, green, and ****,
Droops upon its wizened stem
My lean, unripened heart.

I tune you as piano keys.
I listen intently to their blare through billions of seconds
to make sure they have sound of suitable height
with thirteen-digit accuracy.
I found the arbitrary parameter,
in shimmering sun in your eyes,
in consonants in your name,
in literature you are reading
in your footsteps in sand,
in joint travels,
in energy of your heart,
in motion of your thighs,
in your grace and beauty,
in the tone of your voice.
I am not able to say a word of admiration
for the sound of your body and soul.
Piano closed in such small creature.
Only I can play on you.
Instinctively, we escape from reality in music.
I try to focus on vision of notes
when I am distracted by your radiant face.
You sensed I play first time.
Light in your eyes gives me confidence.
Love is the music of your existance.
Life is secret of black and white keys.
I like when you are mostly undressed
wearing only underwear
without feeling any shame,
with your mind filled only with sounds
and touch of my hands.
The notes fell in torrnents.
Where am I?
I try to put excited pieces together .
Burning sensation in my skin gives new symphony,
overtones as powerful as waves of ocean.
Let it happen.
The blood needs to flow with music.
I barely breath.
I never felt like that.
Each movement felt like pure ecstasy.
The water of our sensation grows hotter again.
I am all fired up.
Play with me, my love.

Eyes that never saw light,
Hands that never held another's,
Feet that never ran,
Mouth that never cried,
Lungs that never breathed morning air,
Heart that never beat for another's,
Ears that never heard,
Tongue that never tasted,
Hair never soaked in autumn rain,
Lips that never kissed another's,
Arms that never hugged,
Name that was never called.

All these parts make up her,
But I can't piece them together,
Without first detaching myself,
From an unnamed child.