THe other night my blind stepmother was making such a disturbing racket
masturbating that I walked in and slapped the dildo right out of her hand—
And when I caught my stepmother fucking some strange fisherman
I knocked her glasses off and since I didn’t know else what to do so
I came in her mouth, our whores are flat as doors
wandering blind through Paradise, our whores are Bosnian
and cold as glaciers, children who drink scum out of dirty glasses
And allow Muslim men to marry their daughters—
I can’t design her feet of spider web chalices,
I resign from this dark world of madness and sad old photographs
of mat makers and hat makers and basket weavers
in cold storage are what we’re made of—
Lisa fell down the stairs, cut her lip and became a doctor
In the shadow of the rock I sucked her tit and made her a mother
I don’t know what Laura wanted but she’s one of our whores too
Mae thinks she’s a crystal set but in reality
she’s a telephone in a leather mini, high heels and glasses—
her soul bitter and washed ashore, her triangle savior no poet but a quiet dog,
fucking fat girls is freedom as we beat the virgins to the beach,
the Americans and their cats have landed happily in the sand
our daughters dirty glasses and our whores masturbating
their mothers will come much later but their grandmothers
will come right now tearing their silk slips right off their backs
the blonde in the iron mask has an ass that I like to slap
pornography is our salvation, the religion of our whores
who Venus-like emerge anew each age and dwell in our minds
livid fleshly creations, darkness and light never seeing their faces
my stepmother slathers lipstick and makeup across her kabuki face
I open the bathroom door on her masturbating on her menses
And throw up at the sight, poor me, I am terrified forever after
By the thought of opening any door where a woman may be;
I never enter dressing rooms and fear riding the bus knowing
That whores will be there and their bodies will smell
Like the businessmen and criminals they lie with hour after hour
I fear the darkness when blind teenage whores roam the streets
so I never go out nights without my loaded handgun—
Yet I say without embarrassment that if a blind whore came to my door
I would not turn her away, could not deny her absent Russian eyes,
Her rat-like illusion of beauty and ignorance combined—
And would feed her crumbs from my table and invite her
To sleep in my cat’s bed annoying the cat who like myself
Would be sickened by her smell but enticed by her sentiment
Should she be a blonde gyaru alien from Mars I wouldn’t doubt
Her dead baby’s truth but would I impregnate her as I did my blind stepmother
and nurture her when she gives birth to the child who will become my mother—