Max Zimmer

When you pick her up at the hospital after work, in the light blue Volkswagen that still shows the phantoms of the wedding graffiti when it rains, you can smell the day’s disinfectant in her green uniform. When you take her head and put your mouth on the skin behind her ear, you can smell […]

The way your father waits for the bus to the slaughter house outside the house each morning with his brown shoes tied The way your father drowns in the noisy snoring of his daughter’s dreams at night through the thin rock of unpainted wall The way your father runs across the weeds of the fields […]