Member-only story
in the language of fire my father’s father Joseph died in the middle of the night when I was seven Dad had tears in his eyes the next morning that’s all I remember
not hungry haven’t eaten since breakfast
dead black sky paper mache self-deconstructing heart poke holes in the tissue energy pours through my art runs through itself like a fugue a self-generating universe neurons die like stars in the brain on a deeper level there is an understanding which forbids itself forgiveness
