vague shape of a person, perhaps made up of broken seashells : the sound of fractured edges toned
He hovers over her, like Goldie after Kurt, as she floats and undulates in her half-dreams, me staring out the window, wondering if the fish might be dying rather than giving birth.
my mother married a willow tree on a hilltop, sat under its boughs through four decades of rain in a day
I was probably a maniac beyond salvation. That’s why I needed to meet with the Solid Gold Inamorato.
The past is an animal with its teeth bared.
and she’ll never die, and we won’t either.
Everyone knows when you build a bone house that you start with the front.