Three Poems: Spider Lady; Dream Of The Lady With The Burning Hair; History Lecture, Year Unknown
When I was born, torn from the body of my mother,
for support I tried to grasp the shirtsleeves of the
My balled fist could clutch, but he yanked it away
before I could hold onto his skin.
As I grew, my eyes became level with the shirtsleeves
Their bulging muscles fascinated me-
I tried to rest my head there-
to my surprise there was no soft flesh there-
the muscles felt like steel-
they hurt my ears.
It was a compensation of sorts,
my mother never would let me get them pierced.
About then I began to exercise my invisible ...