fast like the wreck of the dalles dam in WAshington and grandmother is sick like a dog with the (plague)and she smokes,
flakes away the indecency, pasturizes her
sentimentality with roast pig and i will not eat the flesh of pig we are walking this time to the drainage pipes and the drum of youth is stale on our breath and the ground is cement sliding faster and faster and the rhythm is gravel on glass with the skin cutting out and the way home is bloody and bare with the
crossing of highways alone . . . you will never know this kind of ragged loss,
mother of mothers,
you will never see the reflection of your old face
without ever being young and zeek is handing out doughnuts from a garbage bag
and we gather hungry but afraid to wade through the
flies and fight off the maggots and they say he’s a good man for what he does but i am unconvinced – But grandmother has learned to eat the hunger,
to live off of it and to coat it with coffee and smoke
(who is not her friend) and the treasures of zeek come with a price that is
too high to pay,
and when the children come he drools like valerie’s son who is no longer a child but doesn’t know it yet and we are all afraid in this broken castle where eyes
peer out like rats in forgotten
dollhouses, where children are hunted or lost and
the truth is he never touched me but
i ran, i ran, i ran, oh grandmother, can you hear me- i ran.
fin
more coffee