Moon Aorta Moon Ditch Moon (X)
I hear the damp thud, the rustle of grass. Glass packed in skin like both arms barbedin pure light, and I imagine that, the girl’s hum wound around a throat mired with soil.Choir of car horn and crickets chirp an elegy I’ve revised from every wrecked angle, one sidemessed with antifreeze, another folded delicate as …