His Finger Eaten by a Pig


A glance as damp as a rainstorm, tonight she’s sewing a tiny bible into the seam of
his pants. A river of leaves rolls down a canyon in the thread.
But in the tunnel of his chest an ancient civilization fails again to invent the next
wheel of the heart. We’re forced to live cheaply, the animals we are, muscled in love.
This weather finds the crack in everything, worries it, a kind of praise or
excavation, as if the darkness like a bird cocked its head at the question, hopped once,
into a hole in the earth, and disappeared.
You’re a witness and the horrible ordeal is over again. Time for a loan from the
Ministry of Excessive Laughter, a moon worthy of greater sorrow than mine.
A hopeless case, she said, gathering hope.

Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.