inside the steel boxes | each little soul is bantamweight | boxing the timeline | each little soul is brine | frightened |
It’s better today while we visit against the tall windows in the back of the house, looking out on the yard’s two bird feeders,
Reviewed by Susana H. Case “[B]oy what I wouldn’t give for a shot of bourbonized plasma,” Joseph Zaccardi laments in The Weight of Bodily