What kind of bellow is this over bodies stockpiled in trucks cooled by—Lazarus’ finger? Put it— out of mind, yes, like the names of the unburied, the shot on the run, in the living room, no room at all on the asphalt. Who would ever want to live in this death valley, where the temperature […]
His death is hanging on me like a scratchy wool noose while I’m standing on gravel in the shade of a tree covered by parasites thriving, full flesh green to the highest point above which parrots in pairs chase the dying afternoon my daughter reaches out for asking to go there and there in babble […]
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