I have a friend—who—as a boy washung by a belt loop from a nail—of a doorframe—and left there—in midair—and flailing—andlaughed at—by his stepfather anddrunk friends—and it has struck me—as a metaphor—for a lot of things—then—one day—this friendfound—and lived in—the worldof Winesburg, Ohio—and “achedin an agony”—like Odysseus—butdifferent—for the beautiful loneliness—of small-town lives—and waited for—a train Continue reading In Midair and Flailing by Frank Freeman

Hill & Pool Street—corner of—strewn with flowers now—flowerpower—we drove by there—theother day—a cameraman filmingsorrow—just a corner on a hill—in Biddeford—the town across theriver from us—“Johan SebastiánDurán Guerrero was working inthe United States legally—he evenhad a social security card”—theone grandad told me to always—carry in my wallet—Johan lookshappy in this photo—on my phone—smiling—relaxed—a body—ofwater behind him—“The incidentwas witnessed by his partner andtheir three-year-old daughter”—last words—“I tried … Continue reading “Worst of the Worst” by Franklin Freeman