I                                                                ­            
I've never hit my children.
My own father spanked me perhaps ten times:
for riding my bike on a busy street,
for "acting up" in church.
I have no nostalgia for these beatings
(as in: "Sure glad Pa whupped some sense inta me as a young'n—
   don't know where I'd be if he hadn't.")
  
He would make me pull down my pants and underpants
enough to expose my buttocks,
position me between his legs so he could hold my own legs still,
bend me over his left leg with his left arm,
and hit me with his bare right hand.
What I remember as much as the pain
is his angry expression: Was he angry at me?
Or at something else?
I believe it was mostly an unpleasant duty;
usually done because my mother had asked him.
They were afraid we'd become juvenile delinquents.
  
I suppose his own father had spanked him--
and that he, in turn, had been spanked by his father--
a family tradition. . . .
  
There've been times with my own children--
God knows they're far from perfect--
where I've almost given in to anger.
Somehow I've always caught myself,
always remembered that unseemliness. . . .



            II
Our house is kind of ugly from the front, a split-level
with the whole left side facing the street being a solid brick wall.
Our picture window faces the grass and trees of the back yard.
Each morning, no matter how much of a hurry I'm in,
I open the curtains to this window--
that my children might see not just the man-made objects of our living room
but some hint of the grace and beauty of the whole, great, natural world.

Your stars glimmers
Belching, wrenching
Exposing my ethnic aura
A tape of heavenly bliss

The acoustic rhythm
Essentially subliminal
Satiably insatiable
Tracked traces covered

Your tree branching out
Railing through my bark
My bosoms blossoming
Tip-toe to my bareness

Your entirely arousing
A summation of beauty
A firefly to enlighten
Encased within to liven

A body I hold twinkles
Whistle magnetic presence
Sprinkle my mind to entwine
Assign your soul peacefully

A might, a light at sight
A whole in me,a one in you
Pluck, nip,smash,trap,stash
In dreamscapes and reality

She grabs me by my hair
And pushes me face down onto the bed, running her hands
Up and down my thighs and ***,
Grabbing and massaging.

Pull down your pants
She says, eerily calm
So I pull them down
She helps me, then slides her
Hands back up my thighs
And ***.

Slap
I flinch, feeling my
Right cheek tingle
And then suddenly she does
It again.

It becomes a rhythm,
Then she grabs me by
My hair and yanks my head up,
My breathing heavy and
Almost pained

You will say again before
Every time I spank you.
You will say thank you after
Every time I spank you.
Do you understand?
She says, her voice low
And heavy in my ear.
Yes I breathe
Yes What? grabbing
My hair harder
Yes...again I moan
Slap
Thank you
Again
Slap
Thank you
*Again

Playfully, on my *****
did her ******* painfully prance
teasing us...then tangled together
promising to tell those thoughts forever
My heavy hands
   hovering high over
   your hips:
It's so **** to see
   such a salaciously slow
   spanking.

120609~9.3p

Studies have shown that corporal punishment
at a young age
only results in learning disabilities,

God smacking the grey matter out your brain...

So the cycle of self, ego, perpetuating abuse, goes.
It is a series of footsteps, streams that become rivers;
and we are composed of these chaotic streams: energy
Dreams.

And my brother is a perfect window into "America"
He has a five year old boy, a Girlfriend with a boy and a girl;
They both believe in tough love and hitting;
On Sunday, as they were entering my mothers house,
his son hit him with a snow ball near the crotch, so he hit him
in the stomach, and I saw the boy lose his breath.

"You're a terrible father."  
I picked him up as he started crying.
My brother said he was bad all day before that.

What am I to believe?
That you are raising, caring for, and loving unconditionally,
or you are ******* up as a parent by hitting your child?
What am I to believe? That glimmer of light is a deamon
or that the deamon is you, my brother.

When you slap your child, or any animal, you reduce it
its brain, its body, and its mind. That's why alphas ****;
they just want to reduce the other males around them.
Its an evolutionary trait that carries through to today.

And so do fools, my nephews mother wants to medicate him...

when science meets spirituality, mind spirit
we replace the box with a tree, a galaxy.
We replace the pill with therapy, and community;
petrol with the sun, burning a hole
in the unity of our dreams and the whole of our destiny.