November 17, 2017 | Poetry
You will etch your name in the most lunar dust. This world / may be large enough for none of us, saddest darling.
Now here I am. The same fucking predicament all over. The universe testing to see what I'll do.
Joshua James Amberson
He had a few of the things that fooled the casual observer into thinking they were dealing with a grown man—useless gadgets, a five o'clock shadow, shirts with buttons on them—but in recent years he had given up the ruse and had reverted, at least internally, to the one thing that had made him happy as a child: baseball.