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The putrescent mother & her son. (Ghazal) by Don-Quixote Dreaming in solitude, a child sighs, quietly listening
to the noon time melody of his mothers bitter yearning.
The sticky-slick California sun that rises during June
scorches and deep-fries his mothers' grim dimpled face.
She lurks in the shadows of her pallid 'n dank kitchen,
avoiding light; tears camouflaged by her foetid sweat.
She stares at her sons' chair, covered in summers dust;
her son avoids her spectre, as much as he possibly can.
Polarized they shall remain- opposing each other forever;
solitude her disease; isolation his only source of peace.
Up the ladder:
Pulling the hill (formerly-in response to)
Down the ladder:
The exile returns
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.5
Posted: May 8, 2004 12:21 PM PDT; Last modified: May 27, 2004 1:34 PM PDTWeighted score: 5.1788044 Overall Rank: 4938 Comments:
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I spent my entire life thinking I had to fix my parents, and about ten minutes burying them both.
some people spend their entire lives in reverse and denial dude, just fucking looking for trouble.
When it gets right down to it some parents are helpful and an asset, and some our mere shit, and a liability, and... We all know what good dead weight is? Amputate that shit with a red hot spatula, and get on with your life.