Francesco Grisanzio

From Hard Land

Skeletons were marching through the center of town so we hung up banners and called it a parade. We bullet-riddled cattle to confetti. The children bowlegged along, smacking their spitty jowls and tugging at their bellies. Our clapping soft parts charmed out marrow that scampered back up the mountains in milky leaps. We joined hands and bowed our heads. For every man, a wife! For every heart, a hearse!