dark

least horrible time of day

white fences

turn my stomach and send me

heaving

into the garden gasping

for something

cold

and

metallic

covered in dirt

I realize

we’ll never stay together

for the

children

 

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wood panels and hanging

lights like hoses I once

thought of

escaping

with

dying

for some fog or at least

wet stone

houses up the hillside

all contain

innards in jars aching quietly falling

crouching

on the steps of a warehouse

in the red light

artificial

far from blood

or tree bark

wrap me up in sheets I don’t care

if you washed them

recently