desire paths ran the lawn like hesitation marks. my doctor, holding a tongue depressor like a shiv, told me his crocuses came up six months early. 300 feet above us, tourists in a hot air balloon photographed an unmarked graveyard. at the bonfire i burned my medical bills and watched the smoke roil into a broken arm. after the armistice day parade, a city employee swept electric candles into a garbage compactor. before folding the sheets back into the bed, my ex left their set of keys on the armoire. if history is the history of class struggle then why'd my landlord leave me a pan of brownies. on the radio they were sure we'd still win the war. it was only by the grace of god that i got out of the closeout sale for pitchforks unscathed. as the anthem played we all laid down like lenin at his funeral. when we squinted, we could still see flowers rising from the scorched earth.