ignites. Springs heat up. The anxiety of livestock
mounts. Birds remain tragically unaware
that they’re metaphors. The consequence of fire
is that silos of carbon shed bad air to the wide world
of possums and lumbering bears. Thus, lungs
of all creatures inflate like a star before death.
Suddenly, the Eel, like a congressman, seems adorable
for want of education. Suddenly, universities fold.
Suddenly, filmography clicks frame by frame,
singed in a lab on a California hilltop. Suddenly,
houses become omens of homelessness.
Anaphora dooms their occupants to foot cramps.
We store evacuation in a rusted tank with motor
oil or week-old clams. Please take the fire drill
seriously. Make better use of pipsqueak mortality
and four square inches of imagination.
