/21 [from] iterations of summer [september]



The holiday memo was email-bombed COB Friday to all

involved parties with some supervisors bcc-ed in, but none of


the workers fucking cared. Driving for too many days leaning into

the serpentine roads with cars following much too closely toward


a town that no longer existed, I texted you—asking to tape our worries //

splintered prayer boards to stones you should fasten to the hidden


river on the ancient map. . . but the cell towers were cluttered

with the aftermath

of another DOUBLE set {double bubble*gum*

style mass-produced} of


MASS {please note the irony} SHOOTINGS–

on the same fucking day—conducted with the skill of a


virtuoso European conductor HIGH on street-grade

CRACK. Yes, it’s true


I was flying high on polyphonous frequencies—

talking much too fast//frenetically—before the


inevitable underpass—collecting

torrential rains—a bi*product of


the catastrophic hurricane—for which the tourists weren’t smart

enough to evacuate. {When one pays for a desperately-


needed vacation on credit with 22% interest, the best

decisions aren’t always made.}


I was looking for the extra toothbrush for the

adolescent whose father might


IMPLODE again—because of the newly // non*binary

{gender*fluid} sexuality // self-


asserted {finally}; nomenclature

{warrior name}—to clean


out//urge//expunge aforementioned

COBWEBS—in our collective un-


conscious—when you caught me off

guard—with your


frantic//––// EVERYTHING*IS*

CRISIS* phone call.


Please forgive my NECES*SIT*AT*ED //

self-imposed quietude—


in the morning-garden light–

of this six o’clock hour.


There are some things I need to


get off my chest—in P=R=I=V=

A=T=E—while I scavenger-hunt


the missing clues—to share with

you later on your facebook timeline.


Adjust your privacy settings accor*ding*ly—


{{I’ll miss some of you.}}


to catch another

tidal wave*tsunami at the nu-


clear plant—trying to move


the frayed toothbrush through

the diaphanous cob*webs—


one leg in night-dream; O=N=E






When we me*et, you






At the makeshi{f}t alt{ar},




{w}ill es{sent}*i*ally sur-


render. . . .


three t{hous}an/d birds



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