Tag: by Terese Svoboda
Cellphoned to their continents, Pilgrims / from whatever persecution, kill those turkeys in / want, want, want, and the landing gear drops.
The hedges, as square / as the capital letters important / books begin with, screen // the neighbor but not / his feet
Two doctors, married to each other. At first it was doctor and nurse skulking dark corridors in heat and finding empty gurneys, then doctor on doctor.