We followed the single tracks in a silver Nissan Prairie. We negotiated the past, Sliding into the passing places. Riding faster over the bumps so I...
When I was cold I used to sneak to your scarf box. I’d comb your collection, select something that matched me and then wrap it around my brass neck. I would think of the Nepalese goat
L’Aquila. 6th April, 2009. From deep within virgin morning’s slumber, Comes the rumpus, the rumble of A belly laugh. She shudders, though not in bliss.
And I swear that all you will leave will be your bones. The fear of fleshing out skinnies your soul. In the grave, minerals force a meritocracy and the unearned aesthetic dissolves.
