I go to Spain to see where my rules come from.
The nuns feed me the soft gray brains of sheep.
My brain clenches like a fist.
I am violent & sweet.
I like to make things &
I like to break things.
Up the stairs before a man, down after.
I please you, I fear you.
This is a jam spoon, this is a honey spoon.
Into an elevator before a man, speak after.
It’s this fork for fish & that fork for cake.
I trip over my tongue.
I delicately remove the egg-yolk orange
Stamens from the Casablanca lilies
So the pollen doesn’t fall
Onto the table cloth and stain it.
I set the table for tea.
I like discipline.
I like Goya’s nightmares.
I have chairs on my head
& chairs coming out of my mouth.
Lucas Cranach the Elder painted
Lucretia’s shame over & over & over.
He showed us Lucretia with her
Hips cocked, bald pubis, old-looking face.
Poised, holding the dagger about
To pierce her own heart.
The prince who snuck into her room
To rape her first awoke her
By gently washing her belly
With warm water & a cloth.