back inside the surveillance van, the recording gets garbled
Author: Shannon Finck
I too am sick of the body.
I too am sick of being a body,
am sick of being sick about my body
His hand
is on his chest. You tell him his heart is gone,
donated with his hammer and shovels.
Later, bruises were buckshot
stars.
I think maybe I really touched God once, a place
on his thigh where the hair grew backward, like a misgiving