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Poem	A young man is afraid of his demon and puts his hand over the demon's mouth sometimes...-- D. H. Lawrence I mentioned my demon to a friend and the friend swam in oil and came forth to me greasy and cryptic and said, "I'm thinking of taking him out of hock. I pawned him years ago." Who would buy? The pawned demon, Yellowing with forgetfulness and hand at his throat? Take him out of hock, my friend, but beware of the grief that will fly into your mouth like a bird. My demon, too often undressed, too often a crucifix I bring forth, too often a dead daisy I give water to too often the child I give birth to and then abort, nameless, nameless... earthless. Oh demon within, I am afraid and seldom put my hand up to my mouth and stitch it up covering you, smothering you from the public voyeury eyes of my typewriter keys. If I should pawn you, what bullion would they give for you, what pennies, swimming in their copper kisses what bird on its way to perishing? No. No. I accept you, you come with the dead who people my dreams, who walk all over my desk (as in Mother, cancer blossoming on her Best & Co. tits-- waltzing with her tissue paper ghost) the dead, who give sweets to the diabetic in me, who give bolts to the seizure of roses that sometimes fly in and out of me. Yes. Yes. I accept you, demon. I will not cover your mouth. If it be man I love, apple laden and foul or if it be woman I love, sick unto her blood and its sugary gasses and tumbling branches. Demon come forth, even if it be God I call forth standing like a carrion, wanting to eat me, starting at the lips and tongue. And me wanting to glide into His spoils, I take bread and wine, and the demon farts and giggles, at my letting God out of my mouth anonymous woman at the anonymous altar.
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