Visiting the Grave of Mommy-was
She scratches at the surface Not because she wants to see the scratches But because she really wants out of This grave And they planted flowers Where the beer bottles once were strewn Like lost gods Filled with the remaining good flesh On this hilltop in winter The snow comes in with a vengeance Covering the names and dates With white crystal edema She stands with her flowers Ready to piss on the petals Mommy not really satisfying The reason for being cold and wet Cartons of cyanide could pour upon this dirt It would not faze the masses Instead there would be a faint applause Fading out into the hollow, earless trees She wonders if the heat in the car is fixed She wonders if the ring on her neck is fixed... The cyanide sounds like a good alternative To letting mommy rot in their god She leaves still holding the flowers Written September 10th, 2001 © on Sep 10 2001 01:03 PM PST, Katrina Armour 0 • 10
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"She scratches at the surface..."