by Luke Wortley Geranimo/Unsplash You can find the son at the back of a father’s throat if you’re listening. If you’re listening, it’s possible that you might hear the father’s complaints, the undertones of regret. Regret the self-effacing need to file down to the skin, to wear your wounds so red and open, even beneath your clothes. Beneath your clothes, your soul is a flight risk. Risk the absolute worst when it comes to immolation and renovation, the way it all comes crashi