Aquariums That Cloud
Weather no longer weather, clouds rehearsed, heat rehearsed, the boardroom rehearsed.
To do lists grow longer, I tally the nights I drink, trying to wring out some fun but it all sours in the mouth, leaves me staring at the ceiling where the headlines shuffle like rats, papers multiply like roaches under a light, lawmakers chew their tongues, extremists polish their teeth, and we all thrash in the wave pool while the lifeguard studies his reflection in the whistle. I buy small things to keep myself from splitting apart, because art pulls me too close, the page presses its skin against mine, the screen hums, the tasks swell like bread rising in the heat, spreading from their overturned baskets across the floor.
