I am a flat fallow fieldmy creative muscle buried in landflexed only by tectonic…
He uses the rearview mirror to glance at the spot in the backseat where he’d found Josh. No stain…
Lying again on this wet floor,The rain hasn’t stopped for weeks.
A poem.
I’ll soon beout of the way again,
if I got to the edge of the iron works ahead of you,trimming the sails before…