I Have No One to Help Grieve Dropped into the middle of history, which is just the day, tenth consecutive freeze in January, icicles cracking the metal gutter, immersing the leaves remaining on the North Carolina hills along the rivers. There's more work to do, Vanessa Bell's Mrs Dalloway poster for the wall, dredging the mountainous cat litter, more paintings. It won't feel like our family before he was immolated, towels for his bed, a pulse only left for his voice, preparing ourselves by eating candy bars. Stay up all night, pump gas into our red cars, under the Citgo sign everything seeming a tenacious burden.
I Have No One to Help Grieve.
I Have No One to Help Grieve Dropped into the middle of history, which is just the day, tenth consecutive freeze in January, icicles cracking the metal gutter, immersing the leaves remaining on the North Carolina hills along the rivers. There's more work to do, Vanessa Bell's Mrs Dalloway poster for the wall, dredging the mountainous cat litter, more paintings. It won't feel like our family before he was immolated, towels for his bed, a pulse only left for his voice, preparing ourselves by eating candy bars. Stay up all night, pump gas into our red cars, under the Citgo sign everything seeming a tenacious burden.