I took a long, slow drive
out into the country
just to watch the leaves die.
UP IN RECOVERY
It was late at night inside me. The
nurse on duty believed in the therapeutic properties of art. Bullet-riddled
bodies stood around my bed making small talk. Ethics was discussed back then, when it was
discussed at all, as what you shouldn’t do rather than what you should. A bird
might just as well have been pecking out my conscience. At the edge of my
vision was a clock without hands. No one I met considered it
hypocrisy to dream in fragments, but bleed in full sentences.
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