the death of Ashton Howe: Denial of solid ground
Gasped breath turned stale in the back of my throat, sour,
a metallic regurgitation of past heartbreak tossing
my innards into knots, certainty into denial of solid ground
all over again. The sun through half-closed blinds intruded
— as I, too, had so clearly intruded
upon your unlit secret. Your…
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