No gods will be born this December eve as we stand shod to knees in snow under hard stars within a black ring of
I’d like to talk to you the way the girl in the movie talks to her boyfriend. Slow and young, she speaks of death
We are very thin. We no longer use the doors. Our eyes are round and we do not speak often. When we speak there
You’ll come murmuring fluent sounds about how my heart, like a woman packing a small suitcase in the dark planned this detour. We’ll share