deep_cuts raze cruise down riverside drive on a sunday and you'll see half a dozen dead animals. a pair of unnameable things at the side of the road, white and feathered. a macerated rat. a flattened squirrel, along with two others who haven't yet been mashed beyond recognition: a grey ghost lying belly-up, and something darker splayed on its side. they'll remind you of the wood carvings you saw at the dollar store earlier in the afternoon. just beneath the cherubs. a shelf above the owls and rabbits. all of them prettier than anything in their price range should be. and though you're five miles from home, some part of you won't be able to let go of the thought that these could be your comrades and confidantes, felled by fear and the cruel ignorance of strangers. you'll listen to a virginia-born pianist playing songs the radio wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole and struggle not to cry, thinking he's got it just about right when he croons, "we can be so helpless, hopeless, and so strong." 230622 what's it to you? who go blather from