Half a boot, old sock And hand grenade Eat the sand and Drink the sun-hot blood.
A virgin's tissues Crumpled in tears Move to a landfill from a bedroom In a town in Oregon.
Some say it was the mother's fault, The boy never good enough The girl endlessly made wrong. But in the end, One improvised explosion Is as good as another. A.H. Jessup San Diego 6/24/2012