Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for violence.
damnation raised sequoias bearing palm grenades;
engorged, ripe bundles dropped over bodies whose
sweat spangled fingers roped in embrace.
papa never read to us as we wanted.
always hesitant, flat facts. listening
in between every word
renting silence, daycheck by daycheck.
perhaps the only ingredient for war is
existing. my only sin—
ransoming paper offsprings for warmth.
veterans often speak of the
ruined cities, mangled bodies,
soldiers wiping off
alive in a dung heap, one gets to thinking—
those warm nights weren’t worth
excrements. we were using the wrong
a/n: acrostic within an acrostic poem written for NaPo.