Assunta speaks again!

they call it a rest area.
there's a place there marked "men".
it's where the boys go.

i went there once (many times)
not because i enjoyed it
but out of desperation
i was driven to it.
it's what i was reduced to.

they threw me out (the faggots)
i broke the rules.

you have to look like a man
to get fucked
in a place marked "men"
where all the boys go.

--sister species of crow, o.c.

More of Assunta Femia (A Sister Species of Crow), O.C.'s poetry!

this is for me
          for all the times
you ran to your
strate-boy-closet-case-no-balls-boyfriend.
i been seeing things your way
a long time now.
you topped me in no time
falling as i was towards heavy bottom.
taught me that
if i didn't see things your way
i wouldn't see you at all.

this is for me
          for all the times
you would not touch me
for fear of offending
your blessed breeder boy.
self-effacing peasant that i am
i could spit
and still feel rage.

i saw him the other day
that perfectly poisonous prick,
and when i saw that ravaged face
it tore through me
an avalanche of terror
remembering how you
gave him so much that there
was nothing left for her who stood
and waited
knowing full well that they also serve
who stand and wait.

***********************************************
01february 1982
--sister species of crow, o.c.

Another inspirational poem by Assunta Femia, a Sister Species of Crow, O.C.

this poem is dedicated to Billy Russo, without whom it would not have happened.

and so last night i sat there
with this brother at my side
whispering in my ear saying,
you know, they just don't understand
this commitment to poverty.
I just smiled.
i thought, this commitment to poverty
and the complete comprehension caused
not a few tears to be shed in this
powerful political emotion.

the singularity of it all.
both of us from eastern ghettoes
cast into an expanse so wide.
a universe so unending
this western sky
these pacific mountains.

no, these western white kids
don't know from poverty.
wearing their father's cowboy hats
they were born to this fathomless horizon.

looking at them i wonder,
did they spring fully armed
from the thighs of their fathers?

*******************************************
16 january 1983
--sister species of crow, o.c.

This poem, by my Radical Fairy Ancestor, Assunta Femia (Sister Species of Crow) inspires me

oh, dear elias, we meet again

down through- it seems

the twentyfirst century

down through a host of time

this contradiction

thkis elusive and ever present

this holy and daemonic

this dreadful

this sublime

this holy woman

this woman named

holy poverty.


clare said it first -

let the walls of the cloister be

holy poverty herself.


o dear elias,

down through these years

to see your face again, smiling back

at me.  smiling even.

we are not what we own

we are not what we do

we are who

            and what

            and how

we are.


and holy poverty sings her sweet melody

holy poverty of the roses

holy poverty of the bread


this holy contradiction,

this elusive solution.

don't you see, my dear,

this is class warfare on a special scale

this is the holiest.

this is the sacramentum of poverty.

it is no longer even the nun who is speaking.

this is the partaking

the opening of the side.

put your finger in here,

do you now feel this?

is it happening, elias?

do you feel it?


this is what it feels like

this class warfare.
**********************************************************
29 november 1988

sister species of crow