If I did anything
I’d do this first
spare the next one
the note would read
“imagination is a maladaptation”
fingernails in the bone ash
buried half of you
the women shudder
and move on
“let go”
whips of memory and attention
molar sharp but twisted neck
a drug mimics and muffles
surrendering
“deal with the harm”
If love was believable
it wouldn’t need so much evidence
the women sing
“I do pretty well,
til after sundown”
February 27, 2025
arden briar smith