Letter to Chester Kallman


Letter to Chester Kallman

“When I do get back to the city
I expect to spend all of my time
Flat on my stomach biting the
Pillows, listening to the music
Of the bed springs”
—Chester Kallman

You were my—aching Achilles heel
How could you do wrong—if everything
You did was right—I was so blindly
In love with you—I was determined
To be deceived—all your dodging
Plotting, sneaking—and lying which
I put out of my mind—narcissistically
Gloating over—how unimportant it was
For after all—April is the cruelest of
Months—and even my humiliation was
Rare and totally new to me—the way
You would go to your room—in a fit of
Pique—weeping until you fell asleep
I even consulted—witch doctors from
Dahomey—behaving like some foolish
Ham-actor—in some Strindberg play
How you created—jealousy, misery
And rage in your lovers—how you
Could cuckold me—to my face and
I’d believe you—your incredible
Magnetic power—of cajoling me
Your desire to be mastered in bed
Which I could not do—others could

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