the radiant chrysalids

your mum bears her skull through the forests of the dawn

your mum raises her broom in distant constellations

your mum descends into the earth carrying an oyster shell and a pen

your mum communes with the unrepentant dead

your mum splits open and sprays the walls with seeds whenever the sun goes down

your mum is a railway lantern tied to a crocodile

your mum spreads her wings and flies off into the storm

your mum has eyes of lace and unleavened bread

your mum removes her spleen just to feel comfy

your mum opens her glacial wound for the men who come down from the hills

your mum drives a bus from the market square to the edge of a pool of ink

your mum rises from the sea crowned with a basket of ferns

your mum is a path in the forest where good men go astray

your mum is a plume of vapour on the moon

your mum howls obscenities in the park where lovers go

your mum wears a wig made of mutton bones and wire

your mum crawls up the walls of abandoned tombs

your mum appears at weddings to curse the bride

your mum is a pair of claws

your mum opens a window in her chest and roosts in the tallest trees

your mum pushes a wheelbarrow through the caverns beneath her head

your mum rides the steeples of every church she sees

your mum haunts the dreams of the women who walk the streets

your mum is a fever-ridden carpet in a public lavatory

your mum vibrates in the depths of poisoned wells

your mum swims in reservoirs of wine

your mum is the enigma written on the walls of a forgotten temple

your mum is a paperknife

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