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Deto(nation)
``` Deto(nation)
There’s a joke that ends with — huh? It’s the bomb saying here is your father.
Now here is your father inside your lungs. Look how lighter
the earth is — afterward. To even write father
is to carve a portion of the day out of a bomb-bright page.
There’s enough light to drown in but never enough to enter the bones
& stay. Don’t stay here, he said, my boy broken by the names of flowers. Don’t cry
anymore. So I ran. I ran into the night. The night: my shadow growing
toward my father ```
Deto(nation)
There’s a joke that ends with — huh? It’s the bomb saying here is your father.
Now here is your father inside your lungs. Look how much lighter
the earth is — afterward. To even write father
is to carve out a part of the day from a bomb-bright page.
There’s enough light to drown in but never enough to get into the bones
& stay. Don’t stay here, he said, my boy broken by the names of flowers. Don’t cry
anymore. So I ran. I ran into the night. The night: my shadow growing
toward my father