flight patterns

Calamari’s off the menu

 — all my alien friends are AIs consorting as cuttlefish 

who don’t wear clothes since it’s pointless when you never know for sure

which end your limbs will sprout from —

locavores can be boring but they’re not wrong

I want hearts of palm and freesias in winter

all flown in

I’m a fool for that deep sticky pressurized

pool of oil


massive and incremental

all the changes, pecked to death by ducks


the earth our opponent

I can’t understand how that’s supposed to work


space-x just launched something and I watched it in real time with Jeff

all as it should be, hardly any waste, everything visible and shared

it’s going to the ISS and it’s a good thing; a place where the Americans and Russians are demonstrating genuine goodwill, not this wild tango of unsanitary deliberate disinformation

I’m so wretched about all of that

so wretched with it

so brought low

the sun’s a fleering halfwit in a pollen tank

blinking through clouds

each string and bone of this wildhearted body torqued at random 

blinking through dry eyes and excruciating cut scenes

Flee — I’d love to — if I believed there was a place

elsewhere than a thief of progress 

for the progress (or its lack) is forever with me

whether I redeem my aeroplan points or not