(stiff neck stage)

My brain is the zombie shot brass heralding the day.

(three if a day)

My brain is a cut of the faulkner cloth choking the manchild, celebratory.

(measure laws)

My brain is the hiss before the dust swallows us and the radio forgets the long swagger of love.

(sang secrets)

My brain is the spur of winter wills in the shadow of her auburn.