I fell in love with the hot knife protruding
From my side, and from my hip he sang
Sweet melodies eloquently lo-
Cuting every whim of his unto my poor
Misshapen form.

I stepped without looking whenever
Wherever he deemed ground;
His love was like a dark beer, so thick
And taffy-like that you could chew it,
Gnaw its shiny hide until my teeth were raw
I thought that I was doing fine, love's tough, he said

And I believed it was enough
To take whatever pills he
Slipped into my hand

I thought I was doing all right
No one told me not to pick up the hot knife

I fell in love with the hot night protruding
From my mind, and from rev'rie he crowed
Psalms to me, voice gravelly like
Graveyard pavement eaten by the hamster wheel
That's my appeal

Because I never told you about all
The stuff I saw you slip into my drink;
His soul was like a dungeon, you could
Only gain admittance if enslaved, if en-chained
I wanted desperately in, so he told me|
To open up the cavity of my chest; I thought
Why not? It's only once, right? Right? So I
Invested in a pair of rib-cutters and snapped
That sucker open
Only to find

Cancer—crawling black
Swelling cancer, and I screamed back (for once):
"You stupid fuck, what's this suppurating
Mass of flesh inside of me? You
Put it there, you put it there, I know
You fucking put it there."
It's your cancer, your STD
Your fucking nine of nines.

No one told me not to pick
up the hot knife. . . .

If it's your cancer:
It was that night in Bermuda,
Buenos Aires, or Tortuga
In the belly of the boat, the backseat
Of my car, it was
That night. It was
That night

It was that one night in prison
Under your dad's supervision,
In the bunk beneath your friend, he was
Watching with his superficial lens
It was that night, it was
That night.