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217 childhood I didn’t want to kill my father or fuck my mother I just wanted godhead X-ray vision chocolate milk shakes I wanted to munch in the jungle of my mother’s eyes as the tigers spun to butter around Black Sambo’s tree It was the base the baby tone of paradise It was all about me my concentric blooming the me that shone and showed the way beacon beconstruction too busy a bee to deBut I leap fifty years into theory (Kill the author? Fuck her?) still on the be side against the be-cide of the text still a me-taphysician although my me has filled up with time and space my me has multiplied When my mother died it flipped me back to childhood Her eyes became the gateways to the stars 218 It was cold and gone out there so I wanted to swim back to the start my mother’s heart I sank in along the anfractuous sublime to (Here we are!) Soul-ipsism all the bees of me’s the I’s of yous hiving in this honeycomb of the poem ...

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