crying my soul away like not my mother

I have a new book! I have a new book! (insert melody here)

I'm excited to have created a new little book for the poem "crying alone like not my mother." This publication differs from "we all have our slashes" (see earlier posts) in that it contains some images within the book. If you are interested in a copy of either of these books, please let me know, and I'd be happy to send you one!





stained by rips & tears
it was something about dollars
“we are they, & we don’t have any
leave a message”
the bottle stops on the least likely choice
but there’s pressure to go ahead & do it
i just wish i’d known then....

forgetting is easy when you have amnesia
not so much when the clock keeps ticking
& every five minutes the reminder goes off
after the phone call that woke you up
put that after the cart & see where you end up
in the *blink* of an eye
not on stages making faces to crowds who don’t know your name
i follow only what i can track

the mask is worn till there’s no more face to hide
& then there’s no more fatigue
there are queues in there somewhere
only they’re hidden under piles of “g”
but he went away on an early monday morning
creeping through piles of shit
in search of the long lost pony’s tail
only to find it on the end of the pig
i lost my train of thought

cousins are living in kitchens under the light of the stove clock
& mother saves all three umbilical cords
we don’t know what to make of that
& we haven’t tried to get upset
because we don’t know what she’d do if she knew we know
don’t save bruces when the tape has worn out
another nine-twenty-five in the whole
i’m not one to confuse my father with my mother



Thanks for reading!

Tracey