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Did Sharon and Roy make it harder or easier for their mother to leave?

Once I took it in my mouth, I had to admit pity tastes like sandwiches.

I received a surprise invitation to a tryout camp at Ebbets Field.

The notebook’s cotton pages are spangled with axes and sickles.

Why don’t we just get drunk and walk down the middle of Fifth Avenue.

I have so many questions for you, for you are closer to me than anyone.

Death is our common ancestor. It doesn’t care who we have dined with.

We’d open our mouths and sink, trying to make an ocean of ourselves.

Finger tracing the terrain, you hold me through autumn’s loss of color.

Photo portraits, landscapes, and world scenes by Sandra Lloyd.

A clandestine participation through a soundless beauty.

Art is a way for the mind to master the body, even if it is not one’s own.

she thrust to where her gut bucked acid & gave out a taurine heave

I lean I stumble toward you hoping you’ve not turned away yet.

I’m tired of the song the rain sings in June, the chorus of hope.

Maybe it’s a Thursday, & I’m coming home to make you dinner.

Show me your darkness, your nothing-to-see and everything to touch.

Forgive me, please, for continuing to believe that roses are beautiful.

A real or imagined boundary, crossed. End of the line. Lined out.

“Tell me about the things you can’t tell me about when I’m dressed.”

All of this leaves me floating in seas of prehistory and indeterminacy.

money gotten by blood tends to stay in the blood, which has no race.

She looks at them through eyes flattened by a confused life.

The purple-eyed women on her mom’s side began generations ago.

How did the light take forty years to work its way across that room.

I used to be known for the humor of my music, the lightness of touch.

Every life is an imperfect continuation of another.

A heart takes precautions, withholds warmth, but it’s mistaken.

My first suicidal ideations occurred to me when I was ten, eleven, twelve.