87. an old candle was lit beneath the spoon, as the kitchen relaxed into its shelving & flickering
her baby was flung at me, into the heroin house, as she left the room with a smoke in her mouth, loose change rattled at the door, then the air was still, the blinds were drawn into thick grey dust, & the mould grew on the mattress, mr fuckwit on the street is sucking her psyche, 'c'mon give us a headjob, you don't have to swallow it, c'mon i won't blow, i've got the thirty on me', i reached out to the baby, as he began to shake, a cry from a throat rattling for smack, for the petite mother with the polka dot legs, who came home late tonight, i didn't hear her keys in the lock, only the quiet bump in the kitchen, the fridge light under the door, i saw the prostitute's baby's eye blink, the quick lift of the fists, as he cried out momentarily, so i held him close to me under the mattress, an old candle was lit beneath the spoon, the kitchen relaxed into its shelving & flickering, as his mother entered the dying place |
