The world is sinister--
both days
and nights--
a pin cushion inquisition,
that changes your name,
and alters your faith,
a million little pricks
(a bad night at a bath house)
a rash of bad luck,
the stinging bites ignited
by the fire ants, the famished
flames that lick your feet,
your calves, your thighs.
The hair on your balls
is crimped by the heat.
"This journal is not a mere literary diversion. The further I progress, reducing to order what my past life suggests, and the more I persist in the rigor of composition--of the chapters, of the sentences, of the book itself--the more do I feel myself hardening in my will to utilize, for virtuous ends, my former hardships. I feel their power." --Jean Genet
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