America’s shut mouth opens after decades to reel in a long breath and by 1998 pulls me over white clouds to streets and mirror towers
Grasped a fistful from a recently cut bag of rocket salad and I was caught in the sweet viscous fingers of rot. What is the
“I had no idea that the gate I would step through to finally enter this world would be the space my brother’s body made.”
My birth changed my mothers constitution, tinted her hues as stains. Garbled her language to nuisance, the sound as paper tearing between gears.
“What kind of beast would turn its life into words?”