By David Lavenda It’s a choice—or is it?I’m simultaneously the windshield and fly, already speeding toward it.White, oblong solid.100mg, stamped—miniature epitaph—designed to stop the hammeringbetween my ribsthat nails me to sheets—pillows, blankets.Taste of bitter promise,the throat constricts around what mustbe swallowed.I cave to gravity—the mattress learning my shape,iron on my tongue—the pill's aftertaste or just … Continue reading Thread Count
Academy of the Heart And Mind 