pt 4

There was an understanding among ungulates, that all neighborhoods should have several deer, standing stock still, with apples in their mouths, during all fifteen seasons. Would pass them on my bike ride to the factory and they, in perfect imitation of classical statuary known to me only through stolen glances at the dumpstered pages of hard-bound library books about The History of Art- now moldy and making me cough, would nasally hum an anthem that I once knew, but forgot- something proto-linguistic that only held in my mouth the moment after I'd emptied my lungs of marijuana smoke that time in the backseat of some red-headed kid's high school piece of shit car.