12:19
I can't wrap my head around distances, there is not enough fabric for these language cues to fire off another round. Yes, I will set up small explosives in your harbors and watch the firelits pop with a blue crackle, crackle, center light blue, and the words will drown deep under an ocean of careless predation. Holy god, I never thought about the sea creatures! The common forest animals! I think of my good old dead dog, Sam, the affable golden retriever who would lurk around you for the taste of human food like vampires need blood and would always succeed in stealing your muffin or cupcake or macaroni during an absent moment, no matter how well guarded you thought you were. He would leap up on tables, despite his size, to take down plates even if they contained only smears of ketchup or some barbecue sauce or some unidentifiable remnant. "What did Sam get into this time?" "Well... I'm not sure. I was eating ramen. This looks like lasagna."
Regardless of his food thievery habits. His eyes would turn to apocalyptic fear and he would hide upstairs somewhere strange when the fireworks started. The dogs have to stay inside or else they get spooked and run off into the wild to join their old cousins, coyotes and squirrels and such. What about them?? The wild ones... The confetti raining sky explosions and the gun powder beach debris swept off into the tidal current. Ecology on the fourth? Poetry behind the eyes? Is there a founded relationship with that old professor that will extent long out of the classroom. What does he see in my work? What is the secret. There must be something that I can tap into and continue to let grow within me golden. Does it exist... the spark returns... or is this a short burst, a bottle rocket flight into the oblivion of a fringe poet with whom no one speaks because a Joyce-like absurdity dominates the mind and the fingers and the real world disappears with a wild surprise. Boom. Gone.
Fourth of july must be utterly terrifying for sea creatures.
