This is the key to it.
This is the key to everything.
Preciously.I am worse than the gamekeeper's children
picking for dust and bread.
Here I am drumming up perfume.Let me go down on your carpet,
your straw mattress -- whatever's at hand
because the child in me is dying, dying.It is not that I am cattle to be eaten.
It is not that I am some sort of street.
But your hands found me like an architect.Jugful of milk! It was yours years ago
when I lived in the valley of my bones,
bones dumb in the swamp. Little playthings.A xylophone maybe with skin
stretched over it awkwardly.
Only later did it become something real.Later I measured my size against movie stars.
I didn't measure up. Something between
my shoulders was there. But never enough.Sure, there was a meadow,
but no young men singing the truth.
Nothing to tell truth by.Ignorant of men I lay next to my sisters
and rising out of the ashes I cried
my *** will be transfixed!Now I am your mother, your daughter, your brand new thing -- a snail, a nest.
I am alive when your fingers are.I wear silk -- the cover to uncover --
because silk is what I want you to think of.
But I dislike the cloth. It is too stern.So tell me anything but track me like a climber
for here is the eye, here is the jewel,
here is the excitement the ****** learns.I am unbalanced -- but I am not mad with snow.
I am mad the way young girls are mad,
with an offering, an offering...I burn the way money burns.
This is the key to everything.
Preciously.I am worse than the gamekeeper's children
picking for dust and bread.
Here I am drumming up perfume.Let me go down on your carpet,
your straw mattress -- whatever's at hand
because the child in me is dying, dying.It is not that I am cattle to be eaten.
It is not that I am some sort of street.
But your hands found me like an architect.Jugful of milk! It was yours years ago
when I lived in the valley of my bones,
bones dumb in the swamp. Little playthings.A xylophone maybe with skin
stretched over it awkwardly.
Only later did it become something real.Later I measured my size against movie stars.
I didn't measure up. Something between
my shoulders was there. But never enough.Sure, there was a meadow,
but no young men singing the truth.
Nothing to tell truth by.Ignorant of men I lay next to my sisters
and rising out of the ashes I cried
my *** will be transfixed!Now I am your mother, your daughter, your brand new thing -- a snail, a nest.
I am alive when your fingers are.I wear silk -- the cover to uncover --
because silk is what I want you to think of.
But I dislike the cloth. It is too stern.So tell me anything but track me like a climber
for here is the eye, here is the jewel,
here is the excitement the ****** learns.I am unbalanced -- but I am not mad with snow.
I am mad the way young girls are mad,
with an offering, an offering...I burn the way money burns.
