Now I see that you never saw
me, were talking right through us, 
making our we the symbol of a fleeing
belief lacked in your life,
obsessed over in poetry you did not write,
but talked out, typed like bullets
on paper you'd have me disappear
if I had powers at all
beyond hunger and fear, irritating
uncertainty and my constant touching of
a part you never had.

Subject:  
From: reive (Miclantecutli)
Message-ID: <y8gJ8c1w165w@mindvox.phantom.com>
Date: Fri, 30 Jun 95 22:39:09 EDT
Organization: [MindVox] / Phantom Access Technologies / (+1 800-MindVox)

To her father
the daughter was beautiful.
Dangerous, deadly, dying
in black stockings, a smile and bad hair.
He made her weak to keep her delicate,
to keep her beautiful.
If she was ever alone, he said,
she would be raped.
She spent two years and seven months
trying to rape hersef
while sitting sullen in the bedroom
he'd decorated for her as a baby.
At fifteen she realized he wanted to shove 
his fist up inside her,
to feel how soft she was.
Holding her own fist down by more bad hair
she'd think: this is where he hid my arm muscles, my hate and personality.
She developed the habit of licking her lips
as she thought about breaking his sweaty fingers 
in her
soft 
cunt.

reive@phantom.com			"Dictatorships pay art the supreme
http://www.phantom.com/~reive		compliment of trying to censor it."  
pgp key: /~reive/reive.html					-rf