1. we, clouded with error create from the language of breath an earth, murked without wisdom but the reaching of so many hands
When forced to choose between certain disembowelment by a ravenous Minotaur
When the future star was sweeping cereal dust upon weathered wooden floors
My twin spends our final day of teenhood in a cloudy Cincinnati apartment
My heels squish in the marshy ground. I demolish tortilla chips with a plastic fork
Thin trees rise from the thick texture of the saw palmettos’ sharp green leaves.