We meet again. I come bearing letters--like last year--to your chosen place. The Waffle House turned Denny's. Murder does not go well with morning chatter, the slightly sulphurous smell of eggs. Clinking silverware. The slide of sugar into coffee.
Mourning is no beginning. It is endless. I come to beg. Keep her in. Give me one more year. Do not assault me with surprise. I may see her at Walmart. Anywhere. When she pled, I wept, "Where is my parole?"
The bloody pillow, I have, but I fear I am losing his voice.
Hear, Governor's lapdog. The only, hardest word.