posterity

Today was the hoot I couldn’t make head or tail of. A piece of mail, neon green and wordless, blew my mind across the shining sea, air full of busted bombs. I threw up and called it today. Pressing re-wind, satans emerged from what previously I misunderstood, the art of living, sparking an idea for this life’s thesis. Soon everything converged like pie, except for rhubarbs, who were striking in front of the capitolium in Aruba (i.e., vacation of the tiki-and-fruit sort). Now I stand in the line-up, begging the police photographer to shoot my arm in every possible position.