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March 18, 2020
This boy vacuums the taxidermy. Moves the black nozzle over still-soft hair, over pink-veined ears, polished noses, thick necks.
This one looks awfully offended. He’s gentle with the horns. Hardly skimming.
October 31, 2019
Red Skies at Morn
What if conversations on compression socks are all we have now? What if my cloudburst eyes
and inclement guilt are the only things I’m left with when I hang
up the phone? I’m scared there will only be the memory of a therapist’s office, recalling the...