Dear former home, Back in my hometown. Pale gazes surrounding. Globes like flat walled horizons. Mouths, monsterous throats. Talking cows shitting a feast. Furious self-abuse ulcerating from all pores of what they call their life, their right, their privilege, their...

Seriously

“This is my son, you remember him?” “No, this is not your son.” “Of course!” “But you are not tattooed?!”