Peter draws a skinny little boy named Tony and puts him in a cell.
Tony is more like his Mother than his Father.
Tony is more like his Mother than his self.
A doll’s eye fades to black.
Tony’s cell is really a nice little house in a forest of pink trees.
These things sometimes happen:
A garden of morning glories never opens.
A dead bee stabs the sole of your foot.
A giant toad leaps on your chest at midnight:
all the months of August in a row.
Rob Goldstein 1985-2019