The heart is a broken record, a botched detour, a scallywag, a scab. Mourning does not rescue or provide an exit. The slender apple
Already in the drowned field they are fishing out the last of the herd, white necks resting on the trunk of the stunted mulberry
Because the car drives too fast into nothing but horizon and other cars look like flowers out of focus, broken alive in fields. Because
after Ocean Vuong I’m a buzz cut & braces, scarecrow-thin, ready for my friend’s P90X video to show me a hunger worth wearing. Shirts
