We had you pushed into the furnace;
spoiling organs and
leaking skin were
burned away.
Your pulverized bones
resemble beach sand in
Tawas,
fittingly.
Abandoned the wagon
again,
Cos I’m a goddamned tyrant,
missing you, Mother—
been consuming for two
twelve hours, and I
will continue to imbibe until my barbican
heart has been razed.
This early morning,
trust,
I’ll make it to market by noon—
I learned how to function from you.
Mother,
are you proud of me,
still?
I ask your ashes kept in
keepsake urns. Ashes—
granules, the color of
beach sand.
Thank you! ❤
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