You are not she—my mother!—Ghastly head—
Trunkless—and oozing green gore like the sea,
Wind-stabbed! Begone! Go—do not look at me—
I will not be so tortured!—Eyes burned out
With scorious hell-spew!—Locks that grope about
To clutch and strangle!
(He has got up from the couch and now struggles with something at his throat, still staring at the thing.)
Off! Off!
(In an outburst of terrified tenderness extends his arms as toward a woman.)
Mother—mother—come