A More Brutal Death

For Jim Schembri and Lawrence Money

I bet it was more brutal for thinking her boy  
lost to schizophrenia, my poor mother’s death.  
Being on opposite sides in her final hours,  
cruelly separated by the psychiatric shibboleth  
that has long branded as deeply psychotic  
what reason defends with the utmost rigour   
(my belief that you used a major newspaper  
to secretly ridicule the schizophrenic nigger),  
and by my inexplicable, unspeakable habit     
of disappearing in the Devil’s triangle of bliss,  
I abandoned her to the days before I became in love  
EVERYTHING and nothing but a pissoir for your piss,  
and with her fearing her meeting with Jehovah,  
to the thought that she alone fucked me over.