“Something about Huh makes me want to throw a stone into the sea, but there is no sea anymore. And the stones were collected and hauled away years ago.”Sabrina Orah Mark, “For the Safety of Our Country” from Wild Milk
There’s a whole in the bucket. Do not chew it. The doctor advises to “take sublingually.” We can break your jaw with the garlic press if necessary.
I’ll pick up some fiber additive on the way home tonight.
[Sung to the tune of “Ring a Ring o’ Roses,”, aka “Ring Around the Rosey”]
Ring around the CDC,
Pocketfull of corona,
We all fall down.
[text message exchange]
Me: 14.2 lb/hr
Me: That’s the answer to that question you asked throughout my childhood about the woodchuck.
Headline: LITTLE BUNNY FOO FOO BURNED ALIVE IN AUSTRALIAN BUSHFIRES, MANDATORY HELMET LAW RESCINDED FOR FIELD MICE
It was only after Humpty Dumpty fell that the years of chronically underfunding the healthcare system came to such stark light. Put him back together? Ha! The King’s horses and his men were scraping by in this gig economy. Ride sharing they called it.
Little Miss Muffet,
Bound prone to a tuffet,
Barely fed and wane;
Last seen with a trafficker,
Who’d sat down beside her,
And disappeared her the very same day.
Headline: 380 YR OLD FORMER WARD OF MOTHER GOOSE REVEALS SEXUAL ABUSE, NURSERY RHYMES TO BE ERASED FROM ALL HUMAN MEMORIES
Jack and Jill had gone up the hill but down below a mob had formed. They posed next to their pitchforks and took selfies. They shouted into their smartphones. Jackelynne came down and ruined their childhoods. Voicing her new pronoun hurt their tongues. They were demanding a right to familiar endings.
It’s acid raining, it’s warming,
The humans are swarming.
They plundered the Earth
for all it’s worth
And the future looks rather alarming.
APOPHENIA. The human tendency to seek patterns in random nature, where there are no patterns to be found. See also: ghosts, gambling, and the passions of religious mania and prophecy. See also: what happens when your lover’s brain breaks down while the world is burning.
I was born the day they found a face on Mars. it was a lie, of course; it was a geographical anomaly, a trick of the terrain. We want so badly to make sense of the cosmos, to see it in ourselves. We turn shadows into sockets, bright smears into mouths and eyes.
We turn the universe into our mirror. #narcissus, naturally.
― Amber Sparks
For more chickens than I can count, I tried to make sense of things. And stuff too. Like jamming canned, colored dough through a pasta press. Almost everything looks better when flattened and cut with uniform lines. But the two birds in the bush cackled and the one in my hand? Gone. I was grasping nothing. Maybe at straws of such exquisite wavelengths they slipped undetected between my cones and rods. The clocks ticked asynchronously. Microwave trays performed their slouched turns toward Bethlehem. And none of it amounting to a hill of ancient grains. Now, in the ungodly quiet of the midday, you can hear the permafrost cracking. The barely dried-again scabs on your neck begging your chewed nails not to scratch at the polystyrene tickle in your throat.