Gary’s heart has old bits of string in it | metal banisters, leading down into parking bays | leading down into rivers | leading down into swimming pools | into beds like pools full of floating | girls and | KFC boxes | lotus flowers | oil stains

Gary’s heart is packed with old junk | like an attic, his attic | <the latest | of his attics> | has deer running through it, deer and bats flitting | between the joists | stacks of manga from the 90s | obsolete electrical appliances

Who comes to Gary’s heart?

Mostly empty, consumed by voids, constructed by voids | his mother | puts her arms around him | there | he is frightened by the seagulls, his father | comforts him | Why do the gulls | shriek so, and what | power drill should he buy | the DeWalt?

Mostly consumed by voids, constructed by voids | Gary’s heart is an open lawn under the moonlight, the placid | enigma of suburbia, the white | corners of houses | prefab pavilions | of conservatories | and the acute | stillness of the moonlight | the perfection of it | for it has | found its moment here | a moment | shaped like a shell from his | sister’s necklace, and the moonlight | fills the shell and doesn’t | spill at all

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