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by Buck Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #1239500
death life cancer family genes anger sadness
Life: Material we get to work with

Fathers Exit Wound

Ineffectual Habit, Life is.
Seared day fries night
its rope burn pinch
meshes earth in suns slip-knot
pore reluctants seep steam
withers brittle leaf.

Mere meds won’t, sheer manhood don’t, stratagems veer to avoid touch,
Death is.
Cancer gods that deny DNA rapes directional senses

Delirious Uptakers high singing child, Nahna-na-Nahna, unaware of puck head shot.
while destroyers float chem- trails of blood born malignances
plastic veins drip oceans of disguised peace,
a last hope connection.

You went, crying, I heard, laughing
Crowds were passing, angels sassing,
Silence amassing,
Tesla siesmo’d the roar.

Testing 1, 2, 3,  heart wave gone, heat wave none, mirror breathe, Hah (breatheout)
undetected craze,
you made it out.

Gladness unsurpassed, bygones usurped
Anger goes before you
didn’t get everything on your Christmas list,
took back the tethers,
your indian giver Knife, gun,
rope that hung you from the chimney,
Repairing the roof , my ass.

These false attempts at pleasure,
left coins mistaken for treasures,
more sails whip like feathers,
our pillow talk scissored.

Will it take me, or will your little penis head pass it on,
will splat outlive the broccoli, tomatoes, brussel sprouts,
running for regular checkups
thanks for nothin’ dead man.
“Spare parts included, glad I didn't inherit your liver.”

From grave talk, madness89is99.
Inspired by my Ole man's death.

© Copyright 2007 Buck (buckoontzl at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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