Drowing in the Junesea,
immortalizing the dynamic
of stayed face, victuals of
the fresh flowers of Olmec,
choking, grass rubbings
on a white tee shirt of
the inscription on the
monumental obelisk, that
sustenance was made
from spiders and woolen
lepidoptera and
permafrost. Your father's
house smelt of faraway
smoking, pots of glue,
new divorce.
