When the sky is tongued back with light, you’ll find me here
in the peach orchard, the most I can muster. Rows & rows
in the peach orchard, the most I can muster. Rows & rows
of clustered glow, a slab of thuds, peaches falling to ground, hands, wind.
Sign reads Don’t Bite the Peaches. Teeth last past death
Sign reads Don’t Bite the Peaches. Teeth last past death
but decay during life. Not here, metal in a bird’s shape
bearing this place’s name to people who learn to say it like a
curse,
bearing this place’s name to people who learn to say it like a
curse,
