Verse by @port.calloway

the field went gold then went to sleep i counted every streetlight home my mother taught me how to fold a grudge i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand

the dog still waits by the door at six i am not sorry for the way i loved out loud summer left its fingerprints on the glass we sang until the neighbors forgave us

the tape hissed where your voice should be nothing holy ever asked for my name the bus came and i did not get on the calendar keeps making promises

i buried the argument in the yard