My father’s near a harbor confronting many wives.
He didn’t show them his demons, his infirmities,
his identification, his love.
That didn’t stop him from sleeping with them, that day;
referred but never called.
“Pick up the stones Ma”.
Blessed bastard that father beholds in his arms, her abnormalities.
Fingers like wood, skin like a gown;
a thither of the exiles, a slave to fertility.
Mother stares at the child and reaches after her;
She anoints the baby with her ointments and then she departs.
“Mother where are you going, isn’t it late?”
“I leave for the famine land;
I’m nothing but a plague near your father.
I’ve no womb, I’ve no soul; I wait for the angel of death to carry me
Away waiting… for the children of men to carry on with their lives”.
© Copyright 2017 ElijahGagne. All rights reserved.
Paste the link to picture in the entry below:
Paste the link to Youtube video in the following entry:
Cannot annotate a non-flat selection. Make sure your selection starts and ends within the same node.
An annotation cannot contain another annotation.
There was an error uploading your file.