Property is death: they had a body crammed in a mailbox and it was just a brown suit with bones sticking out—and fathers lost in blowing snow—and mothers drift in blowing leaves, and all the lies in any town—work was my salvation he said work was alwaysmy
Ice and the river—"the desire to be normal is healthy": no, it isn't—can you imagine the death of the wind—can you remember the ghost of that voice—
Lavender sky, sky like whiskey—the way, the way we live in bodies—lavender sky, sky like whiskey—and to your scattered bodies go—your dream inside your face, your night inside your morning—I'll try to glint like birds behind the rain—
Copyright © 2012 by Joseph Lease. Used with permission of the author.