All Ray did was toss a dead swift away and go back to moving stones on his two acres in Brea, California. When he
Slugs slick with rainwater cling to my dog’s hair, black lumps of tiny matter, baby slugs like snot, like something freaky you’d shake
The plane trees quiet as a funeral; your lifeless body posed like a Pompeii corpse waiting for the ash-coffin. The rain clouds wore the