old mother’s not in the green dresser
there’s no old mother
oh it’s long since she lured me to join her in the dresser drawer
old mother in fact never even lay in the dresser
just her smell struck me once
on the white ladder above the dresser
the scrubbed drawer’s old-mother smell struck me
there’s no old mother
old mother never even went to újvidék
other than ókanizsa only rome once on a pilgrimage
and once nagykanizsa with that certain steam boat
there’s no old mother
old mother in fact never even lay in the dresser drawer
she wouldn’t even have fit
i wouldn’t even have fit next to her
still it was nice these sorts of
nice these sorts of
nice to do this kind of poetry
old mother calls out from the dresser drawer and calls
and i with the dry branch of my pencil in my hand
which sometimes still budded out leaves still sprouted on it
i lie down next to old mother in the dresser drawer
there’s no old mother
old mother’s not in the green dresser
oh it’s long since she lured me to join her
and they’ve already pushed out the interior of the dry branch of my
    pencil
yet i lie down in the drawer which sometimes was scrubbed with soda
because it’s nice i say to do this kind of clean
and also raw poetry
even though old mother’s not there
it’s long since she lured me
it’s long since she lured me to join her in the dresser drawer