The heart is a broken record, a botched detour, a scallywag, a scab. Mourning does not rescue or provide an exit. The slender apple
Like instinct, the coed reaches for the backdoor handle of his black sedan, opens the door, slides onto the leather seat. Door closed, she
Lying in the curve of a mountain road, the trickle of blood at her mouth red as maple leaves flaming the treetops, belly flayed
When we study them we slight desire but humans already loved the earth the antelopes with their bounding backs humpback bison, auroch On the