Experimental Prose Poem

[billy]

It is a paradox of life that gay men often have the most incestuous relationships with their mothers.

*

My mind is a Mexican village. Rain pours on it ceaselessly. The houses weren't built to take such punishment. The shutters bang their frames like carpet beaters. Shriveled women of indeterminate age sit on the sagging porches saying, doing, thinking nothing, as their children hassle passing cars.

mexico isn't well known for ceaseless rain. though i get the point of the metaphore; that your mind is inundated, though with what? possibly an emotion of connected to the opening line. i love the underlined lines

*

One room in one house on one street, however, retains an English decadence, with a flower print rug before a roaring fire, two deer hide armchairs, and on a small table between them a silver tea set. The walls are covered in portraits of my mother. love the deer hide armchairs though i would have liked them better in an image, ie; two deer hide armchairs standing guard, or some such

*

The one above the mantelpiece shows her leering just a bit, the shoulder of her dress pulled down slightly, revealing a pink bra strap. Her hair is coal black. She looks like a sexy mortician. Another shows her much younger, when my father still loved her; framed in cheap brown imitation leather, it once adorned the bedside table in my grandmother's guest room. I stole it when I was fifteen. Now it's here.
this is my favourite stanza, it shows what was, and brings us to what is.
She looks like a sexy mortician, is a great line, a pale skin being the sign of beauty in hot climes.
*

The door of this room is locked. The woman whose house it belongs to isn't allowed in. None of the villagers are.

i get the feeling that the whole poem is a metaphor. it's as if you aren't letting your mother into your head. that she's dead to you. (maybe too strong a phrase but it's what i see) the one room is your father. it's like vignettes of memory, i also took the incestuous relationship as a metaphor for maybe being fucked over, (excuse the french) as though she was somehow to blame for being gay.

what can i say, my mind could be hanging on a thread here lol.

i did enjoy the read. if i had to really change one thing it would be to change the rain to maybe, ceaseless earthquakes

thanks for the read jack.