In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

1 Lves of the Orphans I am not a flower. I am a chunk of meat sprayed by the department store cosmetic technicians, their mystique something musky a long way from its pig-drool source. Who can say I am not a chunk of meat left over from the last kings of earth, the only chunk of meat not eaten by flowers in the terrible triumph of flowers? Who can find my signet decoding ring? Who can sell my teeth to the teeth museum? I was small, sitting in a tree eating mulberries. My fantastic instruction was just beginning. When it rained I practiced drawing triangles. I invented heaven for the pussy. I invented hell for the cocaine. Of course I was sent away to spend my hours talking to birds instead of carrying a gun on stage announcing a change in the winds. Finally I got an iguana. When I made love I shouted the names of Greek warships. I was asked to stop that. To join the debate of the beautiful suicides, I tried to become a pure white cube but not sugar, definitely not sugar. The headlights passed through our hotel room, their mythical beasts alive for an instant only. What could I slay that wasn’t the same chunk of meat as me? I watched the gutter overflowing saying, I am your mother. No you’re not. My real mother burst into flame smoking a Chesterfield in a paper shift. White was the fire, white was her shift. Seeing the hatchet in my heart she said, 2 How do you think that makes me feel? Everything has a cause and a curse and a tiny face in a locket, the horn-blower. ...

Share