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