Vol. 21, 2003

   <img src="https://www.angelfire.com/de/Boiishaft/kate.jpg"><br>






Rebecca of Brookhaven Lab, "Nature's Beauty," [pictured above] 

<br><br>
"nature's beauty" 
<br><br>


by bryan adrian

<br><br>
Nature created a little girl
her soft and sensuous red hair
whispers, and never shouts
about her inner purity
there are no doubts 
<br><br>
Mother Superior gave her spasms
by 14 she was on the couch
brain picking season
by note taking louts
pulling out her mother
like rotten teeth 
<br><br>
She then punked out
pasted onto her face a pout
threw her fist into the air
and shaved her pussy hair 
<br><br>
This pearl from the sea
couldn't make the world, however
get down on its knees
only angels protected her
from disease 
<br><br>
"Diary diary in my bosom
why has god
not heard me
i'm barking,
up every tree
like a 
distempered dog,"
she wailed 
<br><br>
One hundred lunar cycles lapsed
the only change?
her ovaries are retreating
folding into themselves
preparing for autumn's frost 
<br><br>
Her yearning for a soulmate
that complements the writer
buried in her soul
has not yet been excavated
by a tender touch
nor a published stanza
of her very own 
<br><br>
nothing to date
has been tender enough
to make her drop
the large wooden paddle
from her mother's kitchen
that she uses
to spank-slap-stab and punish herself
[seems like forever] 
<br><br>
A soulmate was delivered
but she scrawled
with magic marker subway graffiti
"RETURN TO SENDER"
cause this bitch
ain't having nothing
to do with love
beyond lip service 
<br><br>
She bleached her hair
and her pussy
with pure Klorox
erasing her priceless femininity
that suffuses the world of dreamland
with non-corporeal spirits
oceans wider than the sea,
tidal basins of mediocre women
ride upon her pain 
<br><br>
instead of gettin in her way
as she passes by
rushing to drown
in the gay discos
and punk clubs
leaving her real self
her true identity
to wear the face
of a clown 
<br><br>
underfed
disregarded
discarded
aborted
near dead 
<br><br>
That true person in there
could inspire
a million poems
if she only entrusted it
to a someone
who truly understood
that she is the witch of abandonment
and not mommy 
<br><br>
A someone who feels robbed and forsaken
with every wave of the hand goodbye
even at parades
or even to just say goodnight
... same as her.
<br><br>