a two-sided notebook paper rant dedicated just to me.
he loves deeply is feral-angry cries rivers
there is no rhythm to the remembering, / no time or space or elaborate calling
words are fraying tethers.
The interior of our childrens schools feel other-wordly now, dare we place a toe over the treshold.
I thought of the end and / I met it for what it was.
Her snail’s pace is patience, thrumming through the rooms where I try to exist.
It all happened in an instant, just like the lightning rush.
inches from the nowhere drain
hound the ones with rounded edges