POOR MAN'S TELEVISION We lit a fire in the backyard, poor man’s television flickering in the dark. Ada said she wanted to burn the archive of our collapse, so here we are, watching family pictures combust, clothes from the early 90’s, her James Tate collection, my Bruce Springsteen posters. The nametag we bought for him that one summer we got. Everything but the bus tickets crackle before us like ruby secrets on a stranger's tongue.

It came as no surprise when the old tree fell into my lap – it had been tilting for quite some time, as old trees do. Lying there together, the old tree wanted to know about electronics. Electronics, I explained, is what we dub our newfound flock mentality. Then it wanted to know about vomiting. It’s like squalid resin save the sounds. & the thing called affection? Don’t get me started. Then it wanted to know about the axe in my hand.

POOR MAN'S TELEVISION We lit a fire in the backyard, poor man’s television in the backyard. Ada said she wanted to burn the archive of our collapse, so here we are, watching family pictures combust, clothes from the early 90’s, her James Tate collection, my Bruce Springsteen posters. Everything but the bus tickets crackle before us like ruby secrets on the wrong tongue.