Thursday, April 17, 2014

A Poem from Apophenia

What am I but an extension of my mother’s labyrinth,
 a creature meant to bend and slide through corridors of refuse,
walking on the chipped pavement till my shoes rot away and my soul touches the grimy earth that yearns to swallow me as it has swallowed millions like me,
 women teetering on the tremulous, sharp edged blade of time,
 turning out their pockets for cigarette stubs,
 shrugging off advances and bills and weak paychecks and everyday people who would
eat your heart if they could,
 slice it up and spice it up on a plate,
 the inevitable pull of currents dragging us downward,
 pregnant and dilapidated, maids to trolls, keepers of the brood,
 a sorry lot of bed-wetters, prospective alcoholics,
 future drug addicts and wife beaters,
 little boys and girls who just weren’t able to be happy,
 just like their mothers, just like their mother’s great sprawling messes,
 abysses that yawn and call for more and more and more,
 their stomachs as endless as the company I keep,
 my kin, my kind, my home.

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