Now, these explosions announced, political bribes and propaganda weren't going to be enough to push things through. There would need to be survival from blunt force trauma and fear tactics, a relentless forward march

For every person who dies alone that way, another twenty try.

~(+)~

Once you descend, the third rail/ hums its invitation

“still watersrun deep” is not my portionborn to make waves Formed from the ocean

[T]he Thwaites Glacier . . . still exists as of August 2021, though probably with at least five hundred and twenty fewer gigatons of ice mass than in August 2011.

This time the mountain climber does not attain the summit.

—Pretty tulips, said the woman.

I’ve previously tried the old-fashioned route to get my books reviewed, calling up editors, asking friends who work at newspapers and magazines to put in a good word for me, stalking . . . I mean, contacting freelancers.

These are the three facts of my life.

That's demeaning enough, but not as hard to take as the customers. They're all jaded hipsters, thumb diddling smartphone freaks, pretending their online interactions actually count as relationships and that “tweets” are real conversations. It's sad, reall

Brazilian girls yammer with their book bags up against my leg.

We’ve clicked/ and tapped ‘til dawn/ and our exhaustion meet,

It’s been stored away in the cedar chest since my mother put it there in the early 60’s, well, 1962 to be exact. She was a careful woman, but over these many years the bow has flattened, and the wind-up parts have corroded some from non-use. Oh, the

I scowl at her through an opioid haze. "Armitage Shanks is my real name." The clerk snickers. "You mum must have really wanted you to be pissed on from cradle to grave, eh?"