Done having alone inspected your things

They keep wanting a single slab for a stage and are entirely in the right to kid themselves. To say mother had been gardening, that her shoulders will shape an ache tonight between them, is also journalists under the grass blades of my Mindanao among which the breeze sings the afternoon. Every so often. To say I have read Agamemnon’s reviewer reviewed in translation twice in a sitting without ever having to find the courage to watch the (suggested) killing foreordains how I shall pour tea on your cornflakes by mistake. What manner of school am I paying for, what refuses to teach you gratitude in prayer form, the mere fact that we raised you in a house where corn enters in flake form, that the bowl admits no hair except yaya’s, now, say your goodbyes. Who “would live on into old age) had been ruptured,” a whip coming for me to pull an area of responsibility together. To know you is to be loved by you as to love you is to forget, gingerly, what else you need become. Fingers gnarled for this arroz caldo. The box-type won’t start, dad, only out of a hope that it, would, never, end. Insist on drawing my breath from the bubble of your throat.