Dragging, with a dragging sound.
Molotov, not a cocktail you can drink.
It don’t have cherries in it.
Beard not coming in, although cheese was consumed.
Hole in the latex.
Dropped block, broke foot.
Father’s voice in my dreams.
You can get it digitally now. Digital version not as bristly.
Dry bread.
Shells.
Shadows.
Snakes.
Steam escaping.
Green light, a flood of such.
A fine frenzy rolling.
Stitches.
Gum.
Messily devoured his Labradoodle.
Feel them roll around under there.
Stray leg in the fruit filling.
Hollow parts.
We shunned her. It felt good to shun.
Grit.
Tuna salad.
Bless thee from whirlwinds.
And I said, I said bless you, you could use it.
Bless thee, too, motherfucker.
It’s gotten late.
I’m going.
Into the darkness. Not looking back. Not ever.
