My feral son, whose only spit and polish takes place when he brushes his teeth, who crawls into my bed with cold feet every morning at 7.15, who then commences to fidget and demand peanut butter sandwiches.
Glacier billows between air and digital piques
carnival eyes fear discovery underneath
limbs pole pitched
squeals from my
chimp’s teeth ape your papa with perfume.
I’ve peeled your orange, undergraduate of man.
Teach me to live (let live) in trees threatening green
earnest as we
are to speak.
till dicta swaddle you in sangfroid.