(Robert Rauschenberg, Overdrive)


They sent me off

with the lunatics.


The shattering laughter implied

I would be assigned a new identity



Once they broke into

my dreams

I heard the bell

sound black.


There were already several inches

of rain.


Do not tell me

you don’t hear it.

Do not,

for one second,

lead me to that place you name


and then convince me

of silence,


help me, God I’m dying,

down here upon the shore,

I can’t think or feel anything


That wasn’t supposed to be heard.

It wasn’t supposed to be know that

these were the words I prayed

even after I stopped praying.


There is nothing

where there once

were gallant and geological features

I could piece or stack,

or even chisel away at,

if that’s what I felt

I needed to do.


But now I am empty.

I am changed.


The gravel, the barbs,

the pooling rains

that settle within that space

drown in the yellow waves

of the sea.






The Ultra Sadists

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Nightmare bringers

force feed me

my latest penance.


They are

the rapists who complain

about lack of lubrication,


especially empowered,

outspoken women.

They resent having to

ask our permission,

get our consent.


There are still people

who believe women have

rape fantasies.

Some claim women

who speak of being abused

as crazy, manipulative masochists.

Some call victims of sex trafficking

prostitutes and comfort women.


Then I fell asleep

and remember everything

except the most

important parts.


Even the victims who have,



may have been coerced, blackmailed,

extorted, threatened, tyrannized.


We who oppose

have our eyes burned out.


Of course,

none of this is literal,

it is just a poem about the







of human beings.


It feels so good

that I rage

and I vomit.