The Very Best Boo In The Whole Wide World
Careless Love, the girl in the song,
shouldn't have to have her baby alone;
you're going to get your backhoe and bring that man
back. As for the drunk driver
who crashed into your friend at the gas station,
he's headed for jail: you'll catch him with your fishing
net. Peter Pan wasn't the Good Guy,
he cut off Captain Hook's hand. Even your Daddy
is bad, for calling you bad. You're taken your time
and made up your mind: no one ever dies...
And the children, some younger than you,
who spoke with the voices of Gods when put in the arms
of Moloch; the Irish infants who climbed toward Heaven
hanging from their mothers' long hair; the Indian
babies whose bodies your father's father was asked
if he wanted to see being fed to the sacred turtles
because he asked such good questions about
the Taj Mahal; your mother's mother's Chosen
cousins, blond as you--the Diaments--
whose brilliance became that of Nazi flames...
Where are they, and what do they say? Let me
save you the trouble of finding them and tell you: time
like everything else is flowing backward from
the center of the sun. There is that in you that is
brighter than any blade being drawn, pointed
sharper than any explosive spark. Your glances can
strike like stares, and when you stare, the lights
of your eyes are dancing and can't be met. Your voice!--
too clear, makes others think of fever, a future
for talking birds, not people. My Extra Terrestrial
They want to find us out: you
are the reason the weapons on both sides are drawing
back higher in horror; factories are collapsing
because you work too hard; the gangs of uprooted
budgetary consequences hungrily roaming
the countryside have learned your secret fear
of being eaten. There's only one way: stop hating
hatred. Say you're sorry before it's too late.
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