instead of the *** talk
I play for my boys
a song
that says
****
while they
bleep themselves
into the seeing
of a thing
thought to be
a fear
of apples
when in fact
it’s the worm
they’ve not
witnessed-

the worm
their strong
stomachs
are based
on-

the same worm
that turns
into a spider
spinning
cotton
for nightmare
the one
where father
leaves
for places
part
Palestine
to be closer

to a rock