mother, your 8.48 touch cloys
and i shut the door on us.
it was never hard for me
to leave you in your lock-up.
behind the hardened walls
your third goblet of watered tears
slips down smooth and clean and you love it like you love to hurt.
you self sustain for the next slow day.
it helps you put on the creatress -
a black-curtained frenzy of contradiction.
you are yourself on yourself
the snake that bites its own tail.
but we dismiss the darkness of it
when what you produce is so bright.
when you beg the ugliness you **** you
the most beautiful flowers grow where you fell.
i put them in a vase on my mantlepiece
for guests to admire.
it is what you want.