May I be remembering th’worst memory of my life?
The sun and the clouds were fighting to get the sky,
O, this terrible sun and those so beautiful clouds!
I looked at th’Paradise that I could have got.
“I’m holy”, and I kissed the statue of th’Holy Virgin.
(Now, I’m sure it was so icy.) I knew nothing could happen
To me. I hear the voice of my mother, asking me what happened.
(Now, I’m sure she worried so hard.) I knew I was th’angel of God.
It was on Saturday, maybe on Friday, or on Sunday; I cannot remember.
I was in my room, I wrote a letter. I had never seen th’man
I would send it. He was gay; I hated homos. He was ill;
I was afraid by sick men. Far from him, I felt the smell of Hell.
One hear me saying that “I do th’will o’ God!”
One felt me strange; one saw the will of the Dickens.
Were I a devil! I could not imagine that. Were I a devil!
I was mad.