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Salient. Victoria University Student Newspaper. Volume 39, Number 21, September 6, 1976.

The Vessel, the Pieces, the Angel Assembler Picking up the Scatterings of Self

The Vessel, the Pieces, the Angel Assembler Picking up the Scatterings of Self.

you lie violently dead.
in black attire i open an oak wardrobe
to a bizzare world of surrealist time
where your silent clothes hang on driftwood hangers
i choose a funeral robe, dress it with white flowers
awake from this derge
there are minstrels in the courtyard
and wild dancers.
i will join them and play the song of your death.

you pushed a pram through
an opera with soft Jane at your side
you paraded in an attempt to prove you were not sterile
and that the being in this fragile pram
had parasitically fed off your flesh,
but you were still smiling and open to laughter
and a demented variety of love.
then a D took you by the arm,
charged with sodomy
your lover squatted on the steps
of the opera house begging for sanity,
and the cop with his egotistical male governing fuck
sees your woman and you with painted faces,
watches your silicon breasts flicker,
you turn and bow your eyelashes to the east
the wombless woman wilt not talk to men
of how she is vaginaless.
the Queen of smudging hearts and broken lips.
she showed me a Chinese phrase upon her tongue
the lost sincerety, the lost sincerity.

then this crazy letter "i'm going to kill myself"
filled with frustration and sorrow and love
i wanted to tear it up and laugh it away
what have they done to you?
in that dark room where otherswere silent and dead
your black magic laughter, Diana in the forest
and the Golden Bough breaking,
Ramakrsihna painted an eye on my shoulder
as you filled my being with foreign sounds
and dreamed of acceptance with those of your own kind.
instead you found the gutter with your lover
in some transvestites body,
you were beaten, your money gone, the opera crowd
gone home, the D's run off in fear of discovery.
they pumped your stomach and jabbed at your drugged body
with electronic sounds.
"Lock Him Away" they call "He will Fester with our Children"
"Lock him Away" so you sat aione in a white room
while they tried to change your genes, your eyes skywards
they tied you to a hard bed and beat you til you screamed
"i will be me not what you want me to be" they tie you to a cross of
conformity but your body cannot change, nor your soul
even tho you are tortured, i think of others like you, crushed and
vulnerable the lost sincerity the lost sincerity

— Sandra Bell

Drawing of a shooting star