Dying Mother

- Dying Mother- Perched on her stool but getting there Angry at paper that just does not care Onion unlayered in the last of her skin Paper be angry, paper be thin Blotched and embattled, unwashed and pajamaed, the bladder goes dry on the floor Not telling her why, two teeth left in a mushy jaw I am still alive but who knows what for Walking swollen ,chapped and scaled , stuck like Mother goose Hearing goes harder than misunderstood Drinks from the vine the everyday bottles ghost from the past Wherever i am going I am getting there fast Will they buy my a casket, or burn me with gas There's comma 'tween now and forever and a hyphen just before hell The nothing hereafter gets as good as it gets