Mother is Danger

Beware mother sex
when licks of mouth
open fist response when
woody sings blues with
falsetto twang with Dizzy
in that late magical prick
me up baby and throw
me about the bed while
mother’s milk leaks, a faint
memory of being six years
old and fighting for my life
with infant sister on tit.

She plays my name in lips
calls out with my strong,
football swimmer built arms
and I am fourteen and inside
where her girl friend Doris
placed my dangling prick.

Childhood breaks when dawn
strikes the double mirror where
image and tragedy merge
into that eye that falls asleep
in bed with danger and its red
quilts wound with my grown legs.

Mother is danger. She opens box.
I play with her silhouette now.
She is dead three years. I can
find Marilyn and Anna in her
falling down sleepy look in
black brassiere and lace gown.
It should be forbidden but
the morning starts and women
appear in rows as angels.

I am twenty five years old and
I can taste the beginning of
how lechery becomes grand
opera and then almost requiem.
Mozart dances again and Dizzy
plays in Tangiers with Charlie
Parker and my other mind
goes down into my scat singer
place the words on my tongue
memory of how dysfunction
dries on my sleeves, leaked
from the blues of her cunt.

Of course, I wish that my
mother is Marilyn Monroe.
At least she could cry when
I felt her mind tumble inside.