One hundred and eighty-two pages spreads her story like disease.
They send me one false daughter—Dracula—
and then carefully erase the scene.
She’s been erected out of thin air—with the thin air of money.
In Konya—I scream—in Ulus—I embrace her—
while these papers spread her story like disease.
So what? So I name my daughter Saddle Bag. I name her L-O-9-15.
The Dracula bitch that I Dracula-prayed for
cannot carefully erase these scenes.
Last night P walked into a bar and screamed