whistled raze mark says it's the birds. something's gone wrong with them. some virus or mutation has altered their disposition. made them dangerous. i catch him bashing the last of their heads in, barefoot in his garage. in the living room, they're listening to the doors. while the cars crawl past all stuffed with eyes, i stumble into the neon grove and sing along. my stepfather smiles and joins in. mark's wife is the most beautiful woman i've ever seen in my life. i won't swear to god, but i'll swear to you. my mother sits beside her on a couch. she says this is the only house she's lived in where the music didn't make her want to hit something. in her face i can see this whole other life i'll never know a thing about. bowie's up next. i move my lips but keep my voice coiled inside my throat. when it's time for us to head home, a black russian terrier wanders by with something green like ice cream around its ears and eyes. bit by one of those bloodthirsty birds, i'm sure. everyone takes turns announcing their mood. i lie down on the ground outside the front_door. "i'm just fucking sad," i say. i wish the ghosts so many of my friends are now would visit me. my mother whistles a lonely little melody. six notes that sound the way i feel. i haven't heard her do a thing like that before. not ever. not once. 240719 what's it to you? who go blather from