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Poem	first time my father overheard me listening to this bit of music he asked me, "what is it?" "it's called Love For Three Oranges," I informed him. "boy," he said, "that's getting it cheap." he meant sex. listening to it I always imagined three oranges sitting there, you know how orange they can get, so mightily orange. maybe Prokofiev had meant what my father thought. if so, I preferred it the other way the most horrible thing I could think of was part of me being what ejaculated out of the end of his stupid penis. I will never forgive him for that, his trick that I am stuck with, I find no nobility in parenthood. I say kill the Father before he makes more such as I. from ONTHEBUS - 1992
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