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Jo McCrory is a writer and artist living in northern California.
Category: writing
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no, i don’t have timefor your particular brandof bullshit, please leaveoopsie doodle islipped on a half note and gottangled in your staveexcuse you, sir, howvery much dare you; mountains arenot meant to dance heresurely as rough windsdo shake the darling bud, itremble in his wake -rjm
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the summer all the cows diedthey came in the night dressed in people clothesan army of clacking lowing bonesrattling the doorknobtapping on windowswith crude shriveled hoovesbegging to be let inside the housethey implied that telling my parents about them would havedire consequencesas flames flared in the night skieswhere its eyes used to livethey came every…