Wednesday, April 09, 2008


Mother flailed me with the Nine Tails this morning
right after my bowl of Special K.

we exchanged glances
like Medusa would Hercules
Cleo and Tony
Rik-Tik and the Asp

On your knees bitch, she seethed through
rootformed dirtpacked mouth.
(it passed for a mouth)
she broke through my right eardrum
with her Mack Truck soprano
knowing my left ear was already damaged
in a freak snowplough accident

it paralyzed me; and i pleaded
i am broken
i am lost
i am Matrix Fashion fallen by the wayside.

my wax paper cracked
under her fine attunement
of the weapon
i fell prostrated in front of
treesap and worms and fire ants
her oaken arms whisked thorn switches
as she called out my rap sheet

for your dimestore prickdom
for your societal insubordination at town meetings
for intolerant postures at coffee tables
for the insolent imperative you pass for ideology
for sloth
for a forged certificate of impunity to the real world found in my sock drawer
damn her beauty

my gashes seeped pus and retribution
and i am broken
she flogged harder
i am lost
she threatened the rack
i am Night Court fallen by the wayside

the Moon needs not my ink,
the waiting list itself a revered prominence
and the flowers are tired

she glowered brighter and clamped my jaw
yanking me towards her mass
a snake writhed free and bit my tongue
rivets to the mouth my capped molars melted
under vile consumption of fevered rage anguish
turmoilish despair despot dimming deepishly devoid of
harmony and reeking of desperation.

i think a groundhog took shelter in my stomach

i stared at the rats in her eyes
told her i am broken
i am lost
i am Dark Angel fallen by the wayside

i know, she said.
i'll be back tomorrow.
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br.o.ken by Michael W. Hyde is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

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