Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Twenty-four Winter 2010 |
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MK-Ultra 2 (Montauk): Return Me to Houyhnhnms Return me to yahoos, -- David Berkowitz Annie Christain All of this began when I saw the bird use his beak as a phonograph needle. I could have accepted anything as everything else at that point, but Iris told me a thing can only be its own thing. But she never had to sew silk onto the inside seams of her shirt to try and stop all the possibilities, like when she told me to yell in my bed so she could clean herself with vigor. The way she looked at me up from her corn cob. I’m not sure why the cops let me go. I see them at our meetings. They wipe their noses below my window and I wipe mine. I hate to see what’s behind her. Iris. I remember for sure, as a kid, men kept saying hello to me at night, each bringing his own coffee maker. After days of trying to straighten my cats’ tails, I was thankful to try. I hope everyone has a Happy Thanksgiving; that’s the main point of who I am now. She promises I will return to the streets. I add: In the arms from behind. If I try to make my shoulder blades touch, I feel them the least. I will return, looking back, as if to say: There have to be other arms. I’ve been sewn upon to make all these arms. Arms, I have to return to what I do, though I better not. |
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About Annie Christain |
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