What this cancer kneaded into meat night, cracking a brittle fastness,the sort to set loafers to pavementas if I swayed in sync against dirt’sundertow. Tonight, I stayed cold bythe windowsill, checkered towardsanother sleep like an artifact forall to view on …
Sore with whiskey, she parted lipson her widow’s talk, tending tothe twitch of fingers where tendonscoiled and hard. Here, a sip,and another, she found succor inthe haze, turning out an obeliskin that interlude as if she was the lifeof a …
If I forget to cradle your last dying volt like amateur of frost, forgive me your lungs of night I’ve curved in the giving of red. If I curl away like the pulse point on your throat, forgive me the …