"white rabbit girl at 15, oakland 1974: they did" and "If I Could Commit a Crime"

white rabbit girl at 15, oakland 1974: they did

mein hare, mein hare, my little rabbit friend
my story unfolds but the front seems to be the end
did I do those things or were they done to me?
the men on the chessboard rise from thrones to see
 
bored
so i got a gun
and went hunting
for my first victim
 
he was 19 and looked
like jesus, without
the robe
 
i strong-armed him
down onto his bed
and made him
lose my virginity
 
i held a gun to his head
and he screamed
in silence
as he
raped
me
 
i pawned that piece
and bought a bigger
gun. this time, took
it to a bigger guy,
and forced him
to make me smoke
his pot, pop his
pills, drink
his old english 800
spend sweaty days
in bed fucking me
 
i made him cry
i made him do
things he didn’t want
to, and when i was
finished with him,
 
i stuck a fresh rose
between his legs
and threatened,
 
if you say anything,
i’ll slit your throat
with a thorn
 
i bought a switchblade
and hid it with the gun
in the rabbit hole
in my room
 
i dared a girl named
alice to slash the car
tires of my enemy.
she did.
i bullied my boyfriend
into carving our initials
into my other boyfriend’s
front door.
he did.
i slid the blade
across the vein
of my wrist,
i did,
just to see
 
they were selling rifles
down at the local gun
show, why not?
my rabbit hole had
deepened, I could
shove more shit down
 
i’ll take two, please
 
two teenage cholos
in chinos and gold chains
drove up to my door
¿que pasa, chica?
 
pop open the trunk
and drop these in it,
i said
 
throw on these brown
berets and boots,
slap these bandoliers
across your chests.
stick these fake
che guevara tattoos
across your foreheads
and drive me up
to lover’s lane
and watch-guard
with these rifles
while i try
to run
my life
over
the cliff
 
they did,
i didn’t
because i was still bored
and had one more victim
to fuck with
 
i pulled the rifles
the switchblade
and gun from
the rabbit hole,
and laid them
across my bed
 
i called mother
into the bedroom
told her to beat
me with an extension
cord, an iron cord
her fist, her shoe
her mouth
her eyes,
she did
 
looking like jake lamotta
black-eyed and bruised,
brains like refried beans,
i insisted she take
a sheet, wrap me up
like a burrito
with my hardware,
switchblade,
blood and guts
like salsa that bled
from the beatings
 
stick me in the rabbit-hole
ma –
fire me off like a rocket
on its way to hell.
she did.

If I Could Commit a Crime

I’d murder my molester
gas his ghost, crack his cock
boil his eyeballs, bleed his boy-balls,
grind his gums in Ma’s molcajete bowl
pulverize them into pink puss
 
I’d section his brain with my switch blade
slice it into 8’s, 16’s, 32’s then 64 squares—
make a Rubik’s Cube out of the bitch,
confuse him to death
 
One Sunday morning while he’d be sitting
with his arms folded on the tabletop at the coffee shop
on 7^th Avenue and E. 14^th Street, tapping his fat fingertips
to Down in the Boondocks blasting on the juke box,
gorging on greasy scrambled eggs and black bacon,
slurping down coffee as thick as the spit
I swallowed from his French kisses,
 
I’d come up from behind that bastard and strangle him
with a cotton diaper –make him shit in his pants
the way I did after each time he raped me
 
Better yet, fry him! in my Hector-the-molester electric
chair chucked in the corner of the room, where he laid
in bed with a boner, whacking-off while I stared
out the window at an empty playground
 
Roast him or…Fwoomp!
A high-speed bullet to his brain?
 
Now babe! I tell myself. Turn around now!
Wrap your tiny finger around the trigger
PUMP    HIS    PUNK    ASS   NOW!
 
His cock goes limp
My cock click-clicks
 
Sit up mother fucker,
you’re dead.