flowerbed of inevitability 

one of our elevators is missing / a deep dark well in its stead / due to the flourish of inequality / she sends a telegram to the fishmonger’s wife 

it’s a nuthouse of embarrassments / it reads / it was temporarily taken out and of set up in the sewer / tomorrow’s moss is spreading in the flowerbed of inevitability 

a sex telephonist onsite spreads mulch / before the first threat is hurled 

she says /  hymn 629 into a dead line / abolish abolish abolish / ball lightning in her brain / animal clamps dangling from her waist 

buried in mouthwash / paddling like a tardigrade / she sings / life is a nightmare worth dreaming

What I’m Reading:

The apocalypse was offstage, so distant at that point as to be the stuff of sci-fi, drones, mother ships, hyperspace, catastrophically bad weather, but it wasn’t offstage any longer. The heat was real. The glaciers were going fast, the drought was bottomless, the seas rising.

— T. C. Boyle / Blue Skies