Two tree-limb-switched heretics born of Baptist parents, we reveled in a Ouija. But the only black spirits we conjured were our own shadows which flickered against the wall like a private screening. Both of us church boys sweltered in June pews, our bodies a new gospel.
curbside on an Arp-like table. He’s alone of course, in the arts district as it were, legs folded, swaying a foot so that his body seems to summon some deep immensity from all that surrounds:
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