, like son

i wonder if your father ever knew
the smoky sweetness of your throat
between surges of smack
pushin up soul through pipes– cracked, i am sure
wide to receive and give forth unto god
and the glazed-eyed,

your father you followed to the eighth letter
riding lizards with wings, suckin their breath
from scaly nostril to scabbed lips supplicating,
soft sleep in hazy daylight–

your father, did he know how you spoke his name
with a shudder i wonder, perhaps slight shivers?
how many times had you called his name
before you swallowed at last,
inhaling rivers into your blues bellows
before you shifted to imitating thrown stones,
humming the whole way down,

oh scotty– your father– did he catch you
beneath those currents,
or was it his hand that pushed you in?

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