and they still control the world

. . . I open the mail,

drinking delicious coffee, delicious music,

my body still both light and heavy with you. The mail

lets fall a Xerox of something written by a man

aged 27, hostage, tortured in prison:

My genitals have been the object of such a sadistic display

they keep me constantly awake with the pain . . .

Do whatever you can to survive.

You know, I think that men love wars . . .

And my incurable anger, my unmendable wounds

break open further with tears, I am crying helplessly,

and they still control the world, and you are not in my arms.

- Adrienne Rich, Love Poem IV