deer dairy



we were married in a funeral parlor
among flutes of formaldehyde held up
in saluted toast as the best man and
maid of honor gave speeches through
mouths full of old yogurt.

we spent the night swallowing
alive lightup bugs from shot glasses 
until our bellies were clouded with glow.

in the morning we started the honeymoon
by putting each other in small boxes of satin
and lowering them slowly over time
beneath layers of rock and cocktail and dirt.

throughout the years our family would haul
deer carcasses to the fresh cemetery ground
above us and sharpie upon them graffiti epithets:
“usually you love someone’s ghost
for longer than you loved their person.”



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HOW DO YOU PERSON?: A LIFE IN PROGRESS BY THE SHRUG EMOJI FORMERLY KNOWN AS CHUCK YOUNG