mother's fruit

from heaven
   i sat stationary
in my velvet

billowy haven
   my spared sanctuary
of winds songs and a violin

and in this room
   challenged by the red
magic marker of fear

i feel at home
   and i stare
at the mother as if enchanted by a fire

i notice a mockingbird making brutal
   attacks on the mere essence
of man microwaves and cash

the final
   shout threatens its presence
with a blast

from a shooting piece of mahogany
   and steel but incomplete
it lacks a whisper

and from heaven i view the destiny
   of these young they cheat
they kill they remain all but wishful

because it states in mothers' resume
   it was air and earth and fire and water
but we choked and buried and burned and drowned

they won't resume
   to welter
in their weeping

they were born a hunter
   it's the kill - the chase
makes them high wounded and drunk

i pause like a computer
   forgetting in it's haste
to think

a
   mazing the pain
they indulge like a cancer

and it will spread through the
   walls and veins of the lame
portholes they call a mansion