Antiquity through a hole

An AIDS baby in a crystal ball
after an hour in struggle breaks the wall
of his mother and seeing through her
he'd rather not endeavor another word.
She lie there on the bed collecting her parts,
her dulled glass distended, hands on each heart,
her hair hardened under the heat of the lamps
   pulling this way and that rigidly 
   the little man who hasn't yet been blown
   into an alcoholic statue near a fountain of stone.


~ by Jeremy on June 22, 2009.

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