11.Aug.2001

mother

--

mother

Mother the car is here, maybe you'll leave the light on.

My mother's face doesn't crease when she speaks, nor do her magenta-painted lips move. She stares ahead with perfect porcelain stance, a kind of invaded spaciness of brain, and nods her head, careful not to mess up her hair.

My mother is the doll with thoughts.

--

time & machine