wrapped in a sheet from my mother’s bed, I make my way to the outhouse to show my brother there is a future in smuggling the skin of god. my father is scraping leaves into an empty pool and the earth with a rake. if death speaks briefly, I am in two places that cannot exist without exposure. gone long, it spoke once on the loss of loss.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
wrapped in a sheet from my mother’s bed, I make my way to the outhouse to show my brother there is a future in smuggling the skin of god. my father is scraping leaves into an empty pool and the earth with a rake. if death speaks briefly, I am in two places that cannot exist without exposure. gone long, it spoke once on the loss of loss.
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