i woke to a breadcrumb trail of turds this morning. following the winding, segmented stretch
would prove to have but one eventual end: baby t. baberson. immediately disarmed, and suddenly confused by competing motives, i watched her. tanning her tummy, rolling above
the stretched stalks of sun-drenched grass, she grunted, sneezed and closed her eyes.
you take the good you take the bad you facts of life
