HENRY’S VOICE
neila mezynski
A raspy cough, Banana Cream Pie, endless cartoons, excuses. Sunk deep, quoting unalive philosophers, blaming. No one looking. Listening. Henry heard a clear voice above the deadwood. It was his. This slow house filled with the dead. He listened.
Neila Mezynski
http://www.wordriot.org/archives/576
Tobacco Road
Erskine Caldwell