No Stains on the Underwear (Sound Integrated Poem)

I.

Destroy the world in so many ways:
Crack a bomb, break legs, explode some schooners, and then
make your enemy devour the little pieces while scraping his tracheas’
inner membrane, bleeding in hatred, spitting mucus
around the ground-- disarray, disarray.
That’s one way you could have broken my life.

Instead, in a moment?
Drinks with friends.
High on Speed.
A little corner--
his vomiting breath squeezing against your pelvis.
Yes!
Squeal for mercy, enjoy your god forsaken moment and wait a whole month
with fear building under the flies in your stomach
just to know…

There are no stains on the underwear.

Two months pass.
Your belly starts growing the more you endure starvation--
No one can know. No body has to know.Rejection: family, friends,
even the one who committed this crime.

Nine months of manipulative aches as you hold your spine
loosely,
while standing like a ninety year old woman
with wobbling legs.
The day you give birth, you assemble yourself, blaring at the top of your cellars. The walls engulfing you are as bare as your soul
that delves in your unborn child--
a tomb decaying with anguish.

II.

Three days later,
a royal elephant starts hiding in your child’s room.
The toy for your infant fades in disguise and
then, you hold your baby,
weep in the night,
snuggle under the trash bin,
give a bitter, cold kiss on your child’s cheeks--
oblivion to abandonment.
You leave it there,
sprint a trail of tears.
Each one pounds on the steps it cracked,
and you never come back.

III.

Fifteen years later— he is
grown up, hair shining like his father who produced him under Speed.
Eyes blazing blue like his mother’s azure face that shot in the cellar.
The Child agonized with hesitation,
filled with panic and anxiety.
Why did you harm Him?

I am wandering,
escaping between
the scorching lines on my face or
under the crippled fake smile.
I am a beautiful lie.
You made me:
organs attached to each other like an angel clinging to God.
I wish you had pushed glass down my throat and told me you loathed me so much that my own face appalled you.
Instead, you threw me away.

IV.

Wherever you are,
your soul rots inside me—lost, defiant, naked.
Your eyes blaze with tears,
and your mouth, oh your mouth…
I fake it, but
every night, I scrape your mouth
with my bloody knives as
I glance at your pelvis sucking against his belly
in your previous pleasure,
in my
bottomless, ceaseless dreams.