Here comes the mother's milk.
Such splendor lost, in the fall
of our men.
The demolition of a house of cards
that owned no gratitude to blueprints.
I would no longer lounge within the vaulted halls (under ceilings)
a king of kings.
Now I lay long nights, eyes open inside a roach motel
in a ghetto,
not only the sounds outside my slotted window reminding me
of my weaknesses.
I knew now what it must have felt like,
when the angels were expelled from heaven,
and Adam and Eve evicted from paradise.
She got to stay, as mothers were often allowed trespass,
because without them there would be
no life to live.
The myth of creation could take many forms
all curled cleverly like a snake.
She had said that she only wished to be freed from his father,
even if it was the him she saw within his son.
While most would coo and caw,
You sat stonily like Pontius Pilate
as the orderly wiped away the blood and the sweat.
It is a wonder that there was not poison laced into
your breast milk.
It seems to have made me stronger,
mother's milk.
I only wish that I could sleep and dream,
but I only have nightmares here.
As soon as it is time I will drag my bones
out into the wasteland,
and go about my work under the buzzing lights
serving those that are as heartbroken as me.
In the diner, where I work inside the picture window,
the only devils that I meet are the ones that order coffee and pie.
