by Michael Tritto Shadows sang a nightmare somewhere in the room, after the angiogram man’s last slam with his fist, after the “one more test” at the back of my throat, cameras dropped into the theatre of muscles and valves. “You don’t have to agree now, but blood will keep on telling the sad story of “extraordinary flow”. We will repair the frayed flesh, remove the a-fib whenever I want to agree, “Let us know.” Wind is the breath of waiting and spillage its anger in undercast dark corners where panic smiles because it doesn’t know what else to do, … Continue reading Re-entry