mmdclxxxii

...is language strangely

         —Laura Moriarty

The ostrich’s hopscotch

was graceful (Ines

timably, thought

the ostrich, who

believed she was

being offered a

scotch.) and my
skin burns as if it’s

afire.  I’m

all too aware

of the numerous

lies within my

heart.  What

I meant by

the weather

was my mood,

emotion.  Emo

ticon, emoticant.

Precipitate.  Rec

iprocate....  

Andy wasn’t hard

up when I hit

rock bottom.

Later that same

weakness – a

few silent frays –

a Miss Oliver point

ed up to where

we were when

we first saw it.

Each of us felt

a chill of a

different
kind.

mmdclxxxi

“The Dropdown Runs Out to the Right”

Or haven’t you heard?   Logic rules.

It (and its common sense strategies)

bring such a wide smile to the faces

of my friends, the set of which is too

numerous to list; and I’m not just talk

ing acquaintances, no sirree.  But puredee

always-there-for-you-in-the-nick-of-time

-when-you-need-them-most (and without

even having to send out so much as an

S.O.S.) FRIENDS. It’s uncanny, the

certainty of their existence.  I’ve heard

rumors of poor sots who cannot say the

same without a sense of irony – I’m also

told the tone of sarcasm is as obvious as us

believers’ ascent to heaven will ultimately

be (and none too soon, according to my

calculations).  Gosh, I’ve had such omni

present good fortune.  I’m so truly blessed,

to be sure.  Such calamity befalls this poor

earth it breaks your heart.  And then there’s

me and my happiness full of incalculable life.

I’m so ready for it to be over, for the few of

us who belong in paradise to float like tiny

pink balloons on the horizon until we’re

so out of here.  Alrightee, this conference

is over now.  Who needs another revival?

My tummy's grumbly.  And Agnes knows

very well how I get when I’m hungry (In

deed! she hollers from the back porch.  

She's always at the ready.)  Indeed!  Let's

go ahead and get this the party started,

shall we?  Yes, let’s . . .

mmdclxxx

PULL UP

NOT OUT

      —a Walgreen’s paper bag

“Who will be

the cause

of my demise?”

whispered om

inously, it

seemed to

me, at least,

the aether

from which

nothing

comes.

“I will.”

said, it seemed

(to me), the

entirety of my

kith and kin,

bowing, pray

ing, I be

lieve, over

my demise.

mmdclxxix

I’m trying

to forget,

but please

allow me

to list for

for you the

top 200

reasons

why you

are more 

cruel than

Cruella 

De Vil.

mmdclxxviii

Autumn’s Anthem

We are all fallen

with excitement.

“That sounded

big,” one was

heard exhaling.

“Oh, dear that

sounded really

big!”  And so

each of us,

being so

very close

to the heart

of our or 

hearts, the

ones we

perpetually

strum (as they,

occasionally

with a bit

of glee,

harmonically

thrum), stood

in our respective

places and looked

around, each with

a tinge of anxiety,

waiting for the

biggest and the

loudest

collapse.

mmdclxxvii

The Boil-over

“It’s weird,”

thought the

janitor, “how

the crooks

take us all

for such an

excruciating

ride.  It’s a

true night

mare, really.”

Like the air

in a room

(of most

any size)

when a

sufi takes

the sofa,

we were

each and

all just

plain un

comfort

able. Toi

lets were

being flu

shed. Our

thoughts,

as fully

intended,

and then,

of course,

appropri

ately app

reciated,

were as

One.