The son, who bat his mother,
clubbed her, dragged her out,
side of the mountain, drug her
up to the crest of the mountain,
the warmth betraying the season,
when he clubbed then drug her,
the boy and the heft of the drugged mother,
the weight of the deed, the bruise,
the blushing bruise,
when and where the son attended his mother,
attending her beating,
the heart, under the beating sun,
the warmth despite the season,
the season, the mountain,
“the edge of reason,”