by Mike Bagwell Moon Zhang Don’t even think about colorless depths. All they want is to politicize the body. The year of the rat is so empty it walks back to its apartment spilling cheesesteak on the library’s copy of a Brautigan novel —  The Abortion — reads near half before realizing he is not moving toward a home but is a home and so damn unfinished a person could fall through the first floor into a womb. I wrote my friend in prison only once, visited him two, maybe three