—For Kris Sealey and Jerome Clarke I will be the first to admit it doesn’t matter. No one will die for your sins,
I drove by your house and felt nothing but dreamed of you speaking in Cyrillic, the Ukrainian I forget you were. But the war,
Inside the walls of the house, under eaves & floorboards, I hear the worms tumble. Loose nails jut out like pins on a