I was your womb sonic a prince of failed grain harvested from liquor off the M43 near Glasgow. You were my Mother the darling of curbs who fed me needles and a breast for subway coins. My Father was my brother he once played with matches for fire brought attention and a red chariot of stern Fathers. My brother was my hero he saved me many times and saved himself till I left Mum to hang himself from his fire truck. At my brothers funeral I gave my Mum a present, the sonogram of Simon and the note he left, the next day i saw her she wore a long black dress and looked like Ava Garner.