1
Our favorite games were killing. Our favorite books were death. It had been beaten into us: God is love. Not the parched face and gnarledcapes across a stick body; jitteringin the nude sky, we couldn't seetrying to touch usfor the blood in our eyes.Joseph Bathanti
2
The clock sweats out each minuteof what meat is left to us.Joseph Bathanti
3
But there was little heart to our lust, only the confusion of not knowinghow long we'd have in our bodies.Joseph Bathanti