1. The freedom of the wholly mad
to smear & play with her madness
write with her fingers dipped in it
the length of a room
which is not, of course, the freedom
you have, walking on Broadway
to stop & turn back or go on
10 blocks; 20 blocks
but feels enviable maybe
to the compromise
curled in the placenta of the real
which was to feed & which is strangling her…
4. White light splits the room.
Table. Window. Lampshade. You.
My hands, sticky in a new way.
seeming to leak from your side
Will the judges try to tell me
which was the blood of whom?
5. Madness. Suicide. Madness.
Is there no way out but these?
The enemy, always just out of sight
snowshoeing the next forest, shrouded
in a snowy blur, abominable snowman
—and at once the most destructive
and the most elusive being
gunning down the babies at My Lai
vanishing in the face of confrontation.
The prince of air and darkness
computing body counts, masturbating
in the factory
6. Fantasies of murder: not enough:
to kill is to cut off from pain
but the killer goes on hurting
Not enough. When I dream of meeting
the enemy, this is my dream:
ripples from my body
on the true enemy
raking his body down to the thread
burning away his lie
leaving him in a new
world; a changed
from “The Phenomenology of Anger” by Adrienne Rich, 1972