We learn to work our heartbeats, we learn to work them to a sulk. Every valve is an open valve, every valve is hard shock shut full on. A thin cut of sweat breaks free to taken, gulched in choke in fast — in half-light — in beautiful vines of an unaccountable green. Memory, considered, is one leg we have never had. Wear it well.
Jeffrey Little | In Pinch Absolute, the Bigger Empty Contents | Mudlark No. 47 (2012)