by Tim Gilmore, 7/17/2012
Beneath the tall wall of hedges at the front of his plaster house, the six year-old boy sits, random afternoons. There’s an enclosure in the shrubs and a viburnum portico. He sits still for hours. He also shits. No one comes near this place but him and the flies. He has created for himself a new womb. Since it forms a further layer of protection, he has come to like the warm safety of his own most awful stench.
