“The unemployed develop wings,” the comic strips ejaculate...
—Gerrit Lansing
Time gets lonely, too. Aw, dammit.
Eyes stuck up a silo, Sis kicks her
eldest out over an argument; sud-
denly a mouth to reckon with. The
“END” is near if you take enough
pictures and hold your ear down to
the keyboard for a while. Some-
times wrong turns and free birds
seem Big Waste. Holler at the
end of the garden for a new plot
to starch up. Any way you stray
it’s cherry-crusted hearts; a tetch
emotional until the proper set of
words air out, unfurl, and right
themselves before careening off
& ’round the bend like ambulances.
