REFURBISHED The ladybug dies wedged in wicker, is spray-painted green. Disassemble yourself. Free trampoline. Not one to jump to conclusions, but if even pipe-smoke throws a shadow in moonlight, nothing is ever full- nothing, right? The trees agree to lower the veil and reveal the bare strip of road which runs behind the house. The white roar of leaving never leaves, and the porch light flickers but never goes out. In a world of partially resurrected things, the quick and the dead dance a tango then collapse in a tangled heap to make furious love till morning shakes the can and picks a fade-resistant shade of light.
THE BENDS At a certain depth the voices all thrum at the same, garbled pitch. Both wisdom and the waiting swarm of bees call you up for air, both wisdom and the Anglerfish draw you deeper. Do you paddle faster from Leviathan or close your eyes and wait? Once inside, do you stab the tender heart or caress it? There’s leagues on leagues but we’re in out of ours and the tanks are low. You die if you come up too quick, you die if you don’t surface soon, and at this sounding we won’t be dragged out by the light of the moon. As to good news, t he returned ship sloshes vacant at port while the wreck is found at rest on solid ground, home now to an ecosystem riddled with life.
EMERGENCE Seventeen plus thirteen equals eight thousand aliens crackling in the breeze of an oak tree like deep-fried air, even more piling up below in a thick, leggy mulch. Supposedly, in their long subterranean anticipation, cicadas taste time in the fluid of tree roots they sip on, though scientists refuse to confirm whether that’s screaming we hear as they’re wrenched into the world like a bad tooth or harmony as they lilt their way to light. What we can confirm is that based on the taste of the root we’re drawing from, we too are getting close to the surface. Soon exoskeletons will crunch beneath our feet like the hollow shells of selves we nibbled on to quell our evening ache. Soon this red-eyed desire to rip a hole in our backs and climb out of our skin will be something more than an aphid dream you can't seem to shake, and with a roar we’ll vanish into the eternal note, disappearing ...
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