It’s difficult to remember, much less write down, the hard times you thought were unforgettable when you have a full stomach.

...Frosty was too / far away to expect any munch action...

Any compassion I had was localised entirely in my horse, and he was surlier than average.

Like the one-day-a-meteor-or-warhead / that will smash us into creamy soot

The source of the blaze as I came to find, had to do with the man next door. A gnarly old asshole - I’ve rarely heard him referred to as anything else - named Ron.

She wore only a silk dress, a red one, and it flowed over her body like a river of blood.

My father, the flight instructor, / warned me early / about Bermudas, thighs / that scissor away hope.

Depressed... lot of sleeping...bisexual again...extra touchy.

He shit on logs and called it ‘living’

He walked home with a thick, familiar discomfort between his legs, what he thought was a sad kind of tail, and went straight up to his tub where he drew a bath and shaved his legs for the first time.