I have become an isolationist. I isolate in my room, the names of men on my tongue I can no longer pronounce, my memory of them unraveled by time. I look out my bedroom window onto the velveted backyard that expands into forever, my pigeons silent and content behind hexwire, the moon hooked in the limbs of my favorite peach tree, its purple bark the color of my lover’s skin.
-James Nulick
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