the
road is extravagant, the hustle is lethal, mother was a machine. can we see
her, gunning havens, hell bound, restricted from serenity? the nectar in her
venom, the diamond in her rose, I lost a miracle; bleeding cocaine, laughing maniacally,
threshed, abused, and raped. like several accounts, like raising a little genius,
in mother, I found a dysfunction I enjoyed. rattled. in chains. like desperate
to die: “Watch yourself! Don’t give up. It’s cold before it warms up.” a soul on fire, firebrand/fireworks,
cursed, like slums or mercy. mother running errands. mother providing
sustenance. mother, never, do listen, not one racist slur. to find it, to hear
it, it irks hell into a mulatto. she wore it well, bathed in it, prayed to
pain. a bent soul, a compassion flaming, like split, spliced, trying harder.
her day is soon, the birth of the tornado, it gets difficult. so splayed, so
sullen, like a miracle in a damn jinni.
sweet dolor, looking affected, a face scaring naivety. an inrush. a
tsunami. a gut for war: “Don’t you back away, unless, suicidal—come to terms,
and live with decisions.”
I sit, a little disheveled, she
might say, “That’s good for you. Lighten that ass down. It will not go as
planned.”
chaste but dirty. loyal but lethal.
prideful but humble. go figure!
sore rhapsodic misery. pure radiant
pains. tough, tortuous addiction. the soul on fire, laughing in satire, quick
to suggest life is what is made. throttling existence, moving quicker, giggling
with elders. playing B.B. King, blaring other blues, turning television off.
let her enter, more mercy, I let go!
