Metal walls hungry for ankles emerge from hibernation at the start of terrorism season.
Weirdly for the year we’re in, the parts of me in bomb dust are invisible in the rain.
Grandmother, may online ricin sessions on oxygen convert Grandpa’s huge farmer’s cap.
And may the pervy corn you grow inseminate my rectum.
Our family tree blindfolds watery department store leather
So I can cry over the hundred limbs I lost to freezer burn.
Unmarked graves fabricating no recognition and no fame fling full-speed to wed them.