The adoration he declares is like an adult mayfly. His mouth, vestigial, releases air, and I swallow it all. Of course, his reveal is
Albrecht Baker There’s nothing more pitiful for the living than the sight of an abandoned body. So many of us were abandoned. Even the
Flowers like credit card offers. Petals pulled away like eyelids from bulbs. I can’t even watch your plot. Published in Cider Press Review,