The are fragments in the space
inside my father,

allocations of
belts and birchwood and driftwood, or
coin covered wishing trees,
safe as houses
without enough windows.

In shallow places, he tells me
'swallow your chewing gum
and limp into cemetery
grounds. I will forget you
as if you were alive"

Everything he says has
water under it.
It doesn't sit, or stay, or
take root in any meaningful sense.

I guess that's when this all started.
why I stuff an entire pieces of cake in
my mouth just to stay
silent.

I wonder if it's recessive,
this un-satiated need to fill