Tell me about your mother. And I am, just like that, reminded I put myself here. Here I lieacross black leather red-eyed.He, red-tongued lip-licker, prepares himselffor his favorite part. Tell meabout your mother. And I’m awareof my breath because of his tools. Like teeth his bone saw clicks. Temples drip like juiceuntil dribbling and I…

“Let her strike me, it relieves her heart… it’s better that way.” –Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoevsky I’ll show for her my trick And yet will come the scolding.I will endure her kick For the prize she is withholding. She’ll pet my spotted mane For sitting near in silence;I’ll speak one word untame And surely…

On Francisco Goya’s painting of the same name. He half-faced me, one square eye on the crowdOf mourners, one fastening me. He claimed,Pain is the elixir of eternity.So paint your features black, shriek out the soundOf widow wails who clave until fate claveAway, waft the rot of society,That smell of burning waste, lick the groundWhose…

On Francisco Goya’s painting of the same name. And, merit fate, the wine had overflownHolofernes’ wrath; Judith’s blade shoneAs, to the nurse, she confided her plan: I’ll slay this man by beheading him twiceIf you’ll watch the door. She leveled the knifeTo equal her own head, and entered: War,Who played your whore, might have stayed…

On Francisco Goya’s painting of the same name. Can you propose a more appropriateResponse for Ops when she illuminatesHer husband, elbow-deep, in between chews? The muted slurping your abuse made beforeWas punishment enough, she snarled. When goreRemains unknown, blackness paints barbaryMore wretched than reality. I thoughtTo see your sin could not be worse than whatMy…