The Mother of All – an intimate metaphor* by L J Frank

Human rubble in scattered piles

a stretched cord twisted on the ground

an empty bloody womb lies formless

a small arm alone on the soil like a beggar seeking alms

nearby a human baby’s head is turned

she stares

towards the missing limb,

is it but another wag the dog’s “tale”

from a collage of heated skirmishes?

 

A gray-bearded old man

with glaucoma eyes and a toothless grin

sees shadows of passersby

his words no longer recognizable,

and miles away in a perpendicular city

a model poses against a backdrop of shimmering light at dusk

only to return to a bejeweled loft of pleasure,

a business couple sit in a coffee shop sipping a latte

entertaining their values,

and students chew their tongues while

politicians gather to discuss their interests and costs,

international bankers count their money

through the weapons exchange of wealth,

and the communities of military and intelligence play

a historical board game of chess.

 

In a separate place the furrowed brows of a man

who prefers to golf

is caught in an inexplicable moment’s worth of pondering

the measure of a man is in the distance,

before a key is tapped

and a call is made, behold the “truth”

the most intimate and familiar sound to a child’s ear

My mother

is forever lost.

 

In the form of a metal phallus

shrapnel semen, nurture-less

a silent, tragic cry echoes in the mind.

An allegory from the book of Genesis

wasn’t Eve the maternal metaphor of all

that ultimate expression of meanings –

fertile, childbearing, origin, source, compassion, love, smile?

 

To be the Mother of All is futile for the metallic penis

for to kill is antonymic that leaves no descendants

except ideas should a woman and a man survive,

the bodily remains of madness, folly, arrogance and vanity

do leave their traces, but will there be a next time?

 

*Also, posted in Rhythms