from 'Songs and Stories of the Ghouls'

By Alice Notley

Justice may appear in the
guise of a hard, devious mother
I want shoes for my baby
son my werewolf son

None of you can sing a song
The best you can do is breathe
every breath opining
following the prescribed instrument

which is now a hatchet
Justice has Egyptian hair because
you'll be dead; she wants ten
dollars from you; I've offered mine

None of you sing; you beg for each
other's love in chopped-up phrases:
every breath opining a duty to
the gods of the times, whose times

Justice isn't a pleasant woman
Her baby has a wolfish face that only
I could love; the Egyptian gods
have animal heads don't they: the

dead man loves Justice's baby
Having had his soul weighed by her
Take your backpack off, it's in the
way, she says gruffly; he plays

with her hairy baby. I'm trying
to tell you, the Law knows you're
as wise as a wolf; only the baby
is important; only I can sing

the Law that hard and devious woman
says that this is just. You have
given birth to another wild hybrid
like yourself. I'm following you to your

heights: I'm the only intellectual
Justice says--she's worked in peep shows--
You'll never figure me out; but
you owe my baby, and you owe me.

No world is intact
and no one cares about you.

I leaned down over
don't care about, I care about
you
I leaned down over the

world in portrayal
of carefulness, answering

something you couldn't say.
Walking or fallen and you
were supposed
to give therapy to me--

me leaning down
brushing with painted feathers
to the left of chance your operatic,
broken

book.