blue-black hole stares
back at me.
ashtray slides
across kitchen table,
sinister backdrop,
torn up throat
saliva drips
inside her neck,
she spits words
"your mom?"
unspoken slips,
"Grandma, she's fine."
the machine sucks,
it's loud
and it sucks
this sucks
her mind
and blows
unkind
still breath
no air
smokefilled
nightmare
senses lost
staring deeply back at me
blue-black backdrop,
everyone's smoking,
slide the ashtray
and her eyes shine,
sorry to do it
light one up,
smells so good
to her torn up throat.
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