So six months ago Leona showed up at my place in a state of high flustration—her word, not mine—with Myles, her son.

Bull leads, cow follows.

Letters indeed look grander on the screen, you’ll give your cellmate that.

And so they converse.

It was a summer of killings.

It’s toughened glass, and you only break one pane.

You see, chickens are a bit like sharks.

They came to the mountain because that’s where their prophets had told them to go.

In return, I lacerate their hearts with flint.

Still, he pays a penny.

Silence. Drilling. A fly buzzed a perfect enneagram.

Mouse child wiggles toward the cracked window, searching for a breeze.

Who put the BOMB in the booma boom ka-BOMB boom / Who…

They never said, "Don't stare at the stars, you'll go crazy."

But they should have.

It’s Halloween and California is on fire.

Evilly, the sun found any spot sunscreen missed. 

Kerria touched every bouquet that she passed, in case something were to happen.

It’s no news that the first sons in Arinze’s kindred did not live past thirty-five.

Chloe wants her water enclosed, straight.

They stop at James’ chair. Not a word is spoken. James rises. Follows them outside.