Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

golda meir smiles down on me from a picture on the wall above the surgical table. Snip Snip.
then a month later it all happens again
but it is sew sew.
it was not until I read When Jesus Suckled that I realized what I what I done. I don't give a fuck what you think of her confessional poetry. She saved my sanity.

I am small
and you hold me.
You give me milk
and we are the same
and I am glad.
No. No.
All lies.
I am a truck.
I run everything.
I own you.

so full of anger and self pity
not realizing that for her that abortion must have been likebeing run over by a mack truck. all I was worried about was that I had lost my vagina. Got dam me that ought to take a rope and hang me. She has moved on, I can't.
I even tried being a jesus freak, but Nietzsche wouldn't let me.

St Anne a martyr to the psychiatrists couch

For some reason when I think of Sigmund Freud, a picture of Elmer Fudd comes to mind.

the headlight on the truck
and the thing
that holds the trailor
to the cab
I don't know it's name