sparrow. ha, little tremble. little else. little definition kiss of arms. stolen air ceiling fans. tuesday says here it comes. wednesday, busy. thursday hangs up a phone in alcohol halls. says hey look, my gun is loaded. then the list of things you’ve decided not to think on. by definition an experiment in comfort. epidemiology risks results. plays a long song of sweat, and the other list, of the things which bore sparrow.

believed dry. hand resting quietly on his chin, or beak, which makes it hard to speak. the alcohol mall another dogged projectile of the way any street can shake. press repeat for repetition. a flight back. a forward sneak at the hits you have coming.

sparrow hides red sweater fascinations. how it can all fuck you with a glance, a skinny plat-formed shoe dance of gathered possessions and pretty pretend things. the smile of dish carriers. think indentations in your skin until they cut. be something on purpose, or come with me a bit because it’s right. this day in march. this started again when you weren’t looking. dying, died, casanova avalanching the black bird into the little holes that lips make when they close. you can’t tell that I’m younger than you because I know what building was there before the machines came, before the empty spaces that people leave behind like punch-lines in tract-homes, or the taste of forgetting your straight-bodied neighborhood just to find your own body again. sparrow still and small, he feels them all.