(237) The Pheromone Disrupter
The smell of palliative burn
Caressing the laceration
Often wound up in the battle
Open field with nowhere to hide!
It’s that time of the year to nuke!
Quickly, fridge over the grenade!
You’re the boss. Return the fire!
Return to me what I have loss.
Higher wage toss on war affair.
Compare. Buzz compute. Mixed signals.
Whistle-like rasping lisp phono.
Musical rattling chirps dare spell.
Confused mates, husky foo movements.
Par fume aerates the stoic doom.
2/17/21 by ArchDuke Kenneth Khanh Du
Submitted: February 18, 2021
© Copyright 2021 Archduke. All rights reserved.
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