Mother of Sorrow, Mother of stars and night fires, arroyos, tossed tequila bottles, the dead drunk. Mother of the streets, of the violent, weekend golfers, cut off, and a windshield smashed with bare fists; the knife, the absurdity, the day in court. Mother of amphetamines, the aging speed freak, who looks to kick around an oval track in a beat up stock car. Mother of the subways, the swaying lost. Mother of day laborers, children, early mornings, in the fields. Mother of Guatemala, of empty Ohio River steel towns where no more black soot seeps into the cracks of houses. Mother of Cleveland, of every neon bar, honky tonk. Mother of Hank Williams, late night pick-ups that end in anguish or bruises. Mother of every redneck, alone and crossed [...]