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chickflavorPoems
Concept: youlovemeback. The ingredients of cleanse make their way to your house. There is a strobe, two stones portioned off a Ziggurat, a present thing — like wheels, a teardrop, nail clippings. My father would trim his nails and bury them — as seeds. Stared at that *** all days and evenings. Monsoons and summer heat echoed. Time circled back and forth. Sometimes, I would gargle father’s beer and spit into the *** Maybe it needed Acrid, it needed Strong. It needed Disgusting, Toxic. It wanted wrong. I turn 22. The *** Disappears. My father too. Militants took him away, or so the chatter goes. He wore Chinos, sun-dried eyes, a hat. Mice ate the matchsticks used for kindling. The Queen Termite Gave birth to more hungry little ones under the sink. Dark, musty, collapsing. Memory, time, fingertips. Thyme rhymes with mime, I copy my father. Trims nails. Plants. Waters. Concept: trytounderstand This was only the nourish he could give. It was a copy of the nourish his father could give — Or so The chatter goes. Gather the stones. Get the strobe. Pound the nail clippings and an enzyme flows Through, like tape recorders whirring as they wind back to play recorded confessions one more time. Free baptismals at the church service for hurried teens. Free shirts for the Insufficient. Free lessons for the young boy who can’t read women. Free at long, long last. Concept: fixtheheart
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Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 3:16 AM UTC
Hungry Little Ones
Concept: youlovemeback. The ingredients of cleanse make their way to your house. There is a strobe, two stones portioned off a Ziggurat, a present thing — like wheels, a teardrop, nail clippings. My father would trim his nails and bury them — as seeds. Stared at that *** all days and evenings. Monsoons and summer heat echoed. Time circled back and forth. Sometimes, I would gargle father’s beer and spit into the *** Maybe it needed Acrid, it needed Strong. It needed Disgusting, Toxic. It wanted wrong. I turn 22. The *** Disappears. My father too. Militants took him away, or so the chatter goes. He wore Chinos, sun-dried eyes, a hat. Mice ate the matchsticks used for kindling. The Queen Termite Gave birth to more hungry little ones under the sink. Dark, musty, collapsing. Memory, time, fingertips. Thyme rhymes with mime, I copy my father. Trims nails. Plants. Waters. Concept: trytounderstand This was only the nourish he could give. It was a copy of the nourish his father could give — Or so The chatter goes. Gather the stones. Get the strobe. Pound the nail clippings and an enzyme flows Through, like tape recorders whirring as they wind back to play recorded confessions one more time. Free baptismals at the church service for hurried teens. Free shirts for the Insufficient. Free lessons for the young boy who can’t read women. Free at long, long last. Concept: fixtheheart
#father#youth#pain#fatherhood#cleanse#person
chickflavor
Written by
chickflavor
26/Manila
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 3:16 AM UTC
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