“I’m going to kill you motherfucker.” I rarely curse, and I later asked God to forgive me for my outburst.“You mean Mary fucker don’t you, b...cause I and every other man here is now a Mary fucker.”I screamed and tried to jerk my arms free so I could rip his face off, but the men were strong and there were at least four of them.Butch nodded to a woman I thought I recognized standing next to him. She picked up what looked to be a pair of panties from the bed. She walked over to my inverted wife. ‘I’m going to hurt you.’ I inhale sharply and close my eyes. A deep calm envelops me. Your voice justifies the thoughts and memories which I am allowing myself to replay in the theatre of my mind. I think of a fragment of our poem: ‘We take the golden road to Samarkand’. The golden road. My journey. You: my guide. I mount the platform on which the cross stands. The wooden surface is rough on my naked feet. Your will demands me to touch the smooth timber in front of me with both hands, and slide. More

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