Then I notice noxious gas drifting across New Jersey dream of the dismal swamp. Then tweens end their sexting and scatter into apoplectic dusk. Their behavior itself is adult, their body covered in armor like the city’s scab has grown up circular around its river itself. The downstairs puppy—named Cobalt, or Robot—is washed in it and my desire for cherries or peace in this moment … Continue reading “Memoir of My Anger” by James Capozzi