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david’s mom


victor salinas




hail flowers as they stream by
the front window
and watch them
i suppose

she sits alone
fingertips continuously drying
and reading

tapping the rim of
a glass bowl
w/ flowers

She

lights up another cigarette,
and
��so continues the afternoon.

roaches watching from every corner
of the wretched universe
of her timy room
��shuffle softly

as if they’re
Dancing
to the
harmony from Marvin Gaye upstairs
interrupting her.
&
she pauses
to groove for a second to the chorus.

thumps her ashes
and looks softly out her window,
to the fat black woman outside

small bits of century and nicotine
softly scrpae the soul;
music burns like sunlight
and somewhere in the eye
is a path back to relativity
without mathematics

no,
��my mistake
��nothings real allows the
dismissal of algebra
or in some cases
of God.

wouldn’t you know
contact with eternity is limited
when yer Alive.
��i suppose
but
she digs her novels
��writes a few
only to return
to hell

after
the rejection pile
like bills she could never pay




Scars Publications


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