before it was a metaphor First scrape fat from skin, turn to sun what never felt light, in vitriol bathe open wounds, sear to
before it was a metaphor First scrape fat from skin, turn to sun what never felt light, in vitriol bathe open wounds, sear to
The pears I bought and put in the glass bowl are cinnamon stick red and rough. Pleasurable it is, the cutting them up and
We watched the wooden frames of farmhouses groan and crumble, heave towards the water then fall prostrate against the indifferent sky. My father readied
