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She said the ovum had been fertilized and I said kill it now or the world will make the self kill its self or live a burning misery.
Yes, true, it may know good days: Climaxes with caring companions, great stories; Or it may be seduced by television technologies that plug into the head;
Not if I was fathering it, But the powers will not let me When you tell them I told you To kill it Pre-launch;
And you won't protect it Seeing as you didn't have the merciful sense To obliterate the moment you knew, But came to me in eye-water weeping;
There are no other considerations, My word is correct, Yours is lost in above-ground cables And negroes swinging from trees-not-childrens-swings;
Grant me infanticide and I'11 pour uxoriousness, Loving with a love wider than Chile From the Peruvian border to Cape Horn, Bringing flowers with torn edges, Different types of moisture and heat,
Is this not enough? I cried, But it was too late:
I could hear the blastula playing mumbledy peg on the other side of the flesh and bone door.