In the Mix
The damn mixture
Holds me, holds me close like a Mother should.
Not mine, not anymore.
On Mother’s Day my Father picked flowers from
his own bed, presented them to her.
I made as many promises as I could,
on the day and leading up.
Everyone tastes so bad, the mixture sticks to
my teeth. It’s sinking through
my bones .
In the Mix
Not sure if the mixture is a metaphor for something in particular or just a general sense of angst and unease, but this certainly seems angsty and uneasy. And vaguely Freudian.
Not a slippers and cocoa read, but I enjoyed it.
Cheers
David
Not a slippers and cocoa read, but I enjoyed it.
Cheers
David
Intriguing piece, Cooper. I like Jasper's thought on this. Is the mixture meant to be "family-blood"?
Whatever, it is I enjoyed the lines:
"On Mother’s Day my Father picked flowers from
his own bed, presented them to her."
-Nice visual!
Whatever, it is I enjoyed the lines:
"On Mother’s Day my Father picked flowers from
his own bed, presented them to her."
-Nice visual!
Seems like a very personal piece. I get the impression that real inidents are being reffered to and, by way of balance, in specific being specific the references retain a sureall quality: a surrealnes coupled with a refence to what is often termed reallity- I can't think of a good word for it. Like getting a bus finding the dinner you ate in front of you on the chair before you fell asleep.
The mixtrure is ellusive.
The mixtrure is ellusive.