I hope my good old ******* holds out
60 years it's been mostly OK
Tho in Bolivia a fissure operation
     survived the altiplano hospital--
a little blood, no polyps, occasionally
a small hemorrhoid
active, eager, receptive to phallus
     coke bottle, candle, carrot
     banana & fingers -
Now AIDS makes it shy, but still
     eager to serve -
out with the dumps, in with the ******'d
     ******* friend -
still rubbery muscular,
unashamed wide open for joy
But another 20 years who knows,
     old folks got troubles everywhere -
necks, prostates, stomachs, joints--
     Hope the old hole stays young
     till death, relax

                                        March 15, 1986, 1:00 PM

You said the anger would come back
just as the love did.

I have a black look I do not
like. It is a mask I try on.
I migrate toward it and its frog
sits on my lips and defecates.
It is old. It is also a pauper.
I have tried to keep it on a diet.
I give it no unction.

There is a good look that I wear
like a blood clot. I have
sewn it over my left breast.
I have made a vocation of it.
Lust has taken plant in it
and I have placed you and your
child at its milk tip.

Oh the blackness is murderous
and the milk tip is brimming
and each machine is working
and I will kiss you when
I cut up one dozen new men
and you will die somewhat,
again and again.

for Harlon
who recalled them to me five years later, asking for the all of them...

only on Mother’s Day +1
and for Miriam
———————————
My Mother is Dying July 2013
My mother is dying.
It is a process. Days pass,
She neither eats or drinks,
Yet she lives on.

I watch each labored exhalation,
A subtraction, a countdown.
It is as if she was returning each singular day,
Every prayer uttered, answered and unanswered,
Every word e're spoke, every dream dreamt,
She ever possessed to the atmosphere,
For sharing, for recalling, for retelling,
One breath at a time.
~~~~~~~~~
Lipstadt-Roth, Miriam née Peiman, 1915~2013,
passed peacefully Sat. July 20th.  

Critic, speaker, writer,  
her fiercest feat,                    
her leading role, creator.      
A near century of memories  
her legacy, memories that  
linger not, for incised,        
chiseled in the granite of the
books, papers, and poetry
and the very being              
of her descendants.            

Her faith in Almighty,            
unflagging, for he did not    
forsake her in the time of      
her old age, when                  
her strength failed.

They destroyed me
I never knew why
But why me ?
Its been going on for so long
So I just got use to it
I welcomed myself home
To this destruction

They continued to tear me down
They beat the mindset of deserving it into me
So I thought there was something wrong with me

If they hurt me
]Why shouldn't I hurt myself
If nobody loves me
I shouldn't love myself

The darkness was my home
Throwing up was my sister
Negativity was my brother
Depression were my parents
The blade was my best friend
They were always there for me
People knew they were there for me
because it left its bandages on my body

People usually ask me
"why or did it hurt or what even brought you to that point?"

I just shrug my shoulders and said " I'm numb to pain, I'm numb to hurt. Its all I've ever been use to. When you've been hurt for so long....nothing hurts you"

I missed him.
His glowing presence
And warm nature
Brought back the color
Of the ground.
He brought me
Back to life
After a season
Of death.
His existence
Was clouded by worries,
But he came back
Today.