The beauty of self-sufficiency is sufficiently; is adverbially.
When you’ve shrugged off the baggagely that
Is the tawdry and tasteless and disgraceful remainingly
Of the dastardly grouply of cruel and horrendously siblings
And parently who only ever saw in you your place,
No trace of the person you really deserved to be, and
Who did much much more than demandly so cruel – but even so,
As a startly, it was enough – the tool of peerful acquiescence,
That abdication of self and soul …; and when
You’ve shrugged that off, then you are truly free
Of these sisters and brothers and blackmailingly mother
And passively-aggressively father, and wife who did such a lot
To stop and to hurt you and to woe you quite mad,
Even as love you was seen by that worldly around her
To surround her and ground all her acts as real fact.
And in fact this is it: neither, now, do you even want
The yellowly life you once – boldly, madly, foolishly –
Pursued: because it’s ended, your desire, for desire
And its weight: too long and too late have the games of rank others
Played on your dear heart, played on your art,
Played on your fabulous are and done,
Played on the song you now have become.
It’s time to tell swearingly the bastardly to piss off.
And so that’s what I’m doing here: this is my final
Tough position: the roughness of truth –
Like tongue against tongue in quite savage embrace.