Lament the Asterisk*

The world is full of asterisks and mollusks, but the asterisks are quickly replacing the mollusks. Whelks and welts are abundant in the inner spheres of lucubration and indigestion. Are you studying my gestations? My ravenous clawed and fanged It’s Alive child? … or thingamajiggy, as it were? I’m a great thespian, tragician, and imperturbable babbler of dreams. A pockmarked jelly rolled Bwana Johnny wannabe dreamer schemer—eater of beans—my grandmother’s frijoles colorados, if you please. This pointless thumb striking emolument signifying nothing but pounds and furies. What have I come to? What can I bear? What will I do next but lament the asterisk?* (Yes, ok) What a pernicious periwinkle am I. Where’s John P. Ryan when you need him?

What I’m Reading:

“You’d never
know the planet is dying. Here, the clouds
have holes in them and the deer are more etched
with shadow. “

— Victoria Chang / “Today”