[listen mother, he punched the air: I am not your son dying]

a stabat mater listen mother, he punched the air:   I am not your son dying the day fades and the starlings roost:   a body’s a husk a nest of goodbye his wrist colorless and soft was not a stick of chewing gum how tell?    well a plastic bracelet with his name for one.    & no mint his eyes distinguishable from oysters how?    only when pried open she at times felt the needle going in.    felt her own sides cave.    she rasped she twitched with a palsy:   tectonic plates grumbled under her feet soiled his sheets clogged the yellow BIOHAZARD bin:   later to be burned soot clouds billowed out over the city:   a stole.    a pillbox hat    [smart city] and wouldn’t the taxis stop now.    and wouldn’t a hush smother us all the vascular walls graffitied and scarred.    a clotted rend in the muscle wend through the avenues throttled t-cells.    processional staph & thrush the scourge the spike a stab a shending bile the grace the quenching mother who brought me here, muddler:   open the window.    let birds in