Every house is a storehouse.
We came back to stand under ours while it fell,
to sit in the debris, to be in the burning place.
We looked out of windows and sat on the porch
while it rained.
We become inaccurate.
Someone you love with tubes down his throat
shows you every way you can’t love him.
Blood, that euphemism for what moves in us.
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Hi, I'm Graham(burger), wooooo!