two

down the mud

and refuse

broken bottles and

DNA

strands-- stem cells

clambering to the top

but still soiled

UNVirginlike

there was a time when

sunny copper kettles

had gingerbread men

painted on them an

each of them had

a happy smily face

made of marshmallows

Pillsbury-- doughboys

smile the same sadistic

smile

and it's enoughto

drive Washoe crazy

mad

dogs get mad

people get angry

and I'm angry

i hate the way it

feels to be the

first person i have to

see in the morning

horror to wake up

and find myself

on my pillow

still sore from

last night's attack on

Iraq. and Pakistan

knows no better I find

myself wearing ID

bracelets and having

them engraved with the

name Ariel Sharon

what the hell have i gotten

myself into?

where is the keeper?

where is the mother who

is supposed to be here

and tell Slobodan Milosovik

it's okay

Where is this maiden

with heroine-wrists and

a halo of glossy black who

gives her breast

for Yassir to suckle

upon?