when i saw the trumpeter blow / the horn, my jericho heart came down, / moved from flesh to fluid.
With summer winding down to a close, it’s easy to get behind on important things: chores, paperwork, meeting up with friends/randos-I-met-at-bars-the-weekend-before, going to bed at a reasonable hour, blogging. A lot has happened here in the Bond House. After a familial July full of dinner and drinking, we lost roommates to school, business trips, thesis, Venezuela. This month there are but a paltry four Bondies (though undoubtedly the cream of the crop) in Boston. I’m not coping well. We don’t know what to do with all of the tomatoes.
I tell my friend I think about suicide / every night, the thought a pillow mint