Insurrection (Minor)

Push the clock's face in.

The World

is under construction...

A poem

A poem is a puzzled happening.

Microbes

Dot dot dot
Twinkle winkle wod
...
Gro

The New One

They say the new one has no name. They say it came of its own accord. They say it can think like the wind, it has whims.

They say many things, but the new one is silent. It stays crumpled in a chair, wearing its white stuff. Sometimes it goes to ground, sometimes it melts. In the night, it cannot feel a thing.

The new one breathes. I did not know it could.

Every day there are surprises. Round and round, each one eating the tail of the one before it. The new one waits and watches.

Clouds gather on the hill. Words thicken on the page. The new one is no longer new.