The Amazon I Would Part, Three Times I Was Killed Why would a man knock on a door, When he knows that nobody's home? Why would a man kick a car, When he knows that he can walk? Why would a boy hide, When he knows that he will be found? Why would a boy fight, When he knows that he will lose? Why would a girl run, When she knows that she will fall? Why would a girl cry, When she knows she will be dry? Why would a woman lie, When she knows she is lying by the woods? Why would a woman die, When she knows she is buying time? I saw these Gothic crosses on the bough, On the vow, three times I stabbed at the brittle corpse, For one could not kill the dead, ma sabre shined, In maggots, in blood, in flood, The Amazon growled, louder than dials, Of sun, rising from the west, Dumber than Frankenstein's monster's pet orange, Carved into a pumpkin to celebrate halloween, No candle in the middle, but a tonne of fireworks, Not able to enlighten the dim-witted, Casting fishing nets into the Sahara, For a year, the tribe of Stimgapura, Eradicated, destroyed, by Troy, they said, Only complete fools would aim a missile at reason, Reminding Juliet about being surprised If Hamlet were to wrestle Goliath, without slings or helmets, For her hand, glued to her breast, Beating, beating, beating, secretly wishing, That both be killed in battle, For she preferred Othello, the helium mask of valor, Robin Hood robbed for me, saying repetitiously, Why are you so idiotic? She's pulling your eye lids! Can't you see? See? Sorry, I couldn't tell. In braille, I replied. I AM BLIND. Blind, you say? I couldn't tell. Tell me, how did you know she's beautiful? Have you seen her face? Have you heard her voice? No. She didn't speak, for she was dumb. Dumb? Dumb? Dumb? Why so much dumbness? Has the world become stupid? No. Just me and ma silence. I mean, she was a mute, Or she was muffled, couldn't tell, but we spoke in songs, Of forests weeping, of rivers laughing. Then, I saw a light, and I knew, she was gone. Where to? New York on a wire? I don't know. I won't know. So what's going to happen next? Have you given up? I'm not proud to say it but I was born in Stimgapura, But does that make me a citizen of land? Do you hold a Stimgapura passport? No. I would never be so arranged. I'm it's nemesis. Stimgapurans hate me and I hate them just as much. Some things are stranger than what some people would do for love, Whatever it is, it is a thing of the past. Especially today, when the mute has developed hand signals To communicate with the lepers by the papaya jaccuzi rain, Falling into the cup of doom, punching into a sand bag drawing On the wall, devoid of Samo, gods eating crayon pigs on Sabbath, Is this the comedy of errors not intended by Shakes, Is this the tragedy of madness not dictated by messages, Unscribbled, unwriggled, the intricate tapestry Of a taffeta bull, bashing China, on a loom, on a bloom, The flight of Omega, putting a pearl into her mouth, Untangling her tongue, ma, ma, me, me, mi, mi, mia, She said her name, brighter than the chime of voodoo bells, Darting 55553 miles into the violet Saturn dusk, She became a roasted lizard, catching nothing, But the thing she dreads most, A pair of silver Orion scissors snapping her soul Into blue, into brown, into green, Nobody knew, if she was Asian, or in Asia, For, where, just where, is the center of attention? I heard that asked a million times, And a billion times, I met the failure of sanity, Sold for a mandolin, a trambourine, That's what I gained.