Lay me upon rhododendrons burgundy with blood long ago spilled by my grandmother’s knees on flowerbed bricks, on kitchen linoleum, on hospital bed rails. Lay me upon weeping azaleas and day (deprived) lilies holding the final strands of her hair within their roots. I will celebrate her life at the last with their death, for…

The more I gain control, the more I resist this world and become a bird of prey machine the farther I fly I become a raptor enraptured by smothering fog, shrieking tempo to every creek ripple, every butterfly effect I leave behind my husk, erased by fading memory. The static Nothing closes in on Fantastica.…