The world will forget these children.
...there is the conversation...given in the language of chemical exchanges...
But there in the dark of a BBC recording was only a young man's madness.
It was the result of a brokenness in his body.
He would sit there, with his tight frown, his pent-up bowels, his shoulders narrow again like a boy’s, his paper-thin skin shaking and he’d wait.
Would you beat Old Franky like a rented mule rather than just let Old Franky be Old Franky?
As a kid, I’d imagine green florets budding out from under the soft and torn fingernails...
...the pattern of the grain flows with divergent needs, some cells expanding slightly, others contracting.
All things repeat.