Startled, a swallow falls from the nest at the sound of its own voice. That thud you hear is someone else’s heart dropping. You’re perched on the windowsill of desire. Lemons ripen, rot, no one here likes citrus. The world’s in worse shape than a clay pigeon. Yes, it’s been a long day, but you can’t stand up for yourself on all fours. Dogs know this, why don’t you? Still, the town wishes you the best and a place to put it. Under the streetlight, smiling like crazy, a boy pretends to be the moon.

Bio: Peter Jastermsky