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Hurricane Season

Sometimes fear is a gift.

By David TPublished 7 years ago 1 min read
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peregrine

Disasters, both natural and not,

events without context, news

and opinion in the inexorable blender:

spaghetti models, fear, denial,

the slow back roads get you out

faster than congested freeways.

On the menu, a cocktail named

Category Five. Distinguishing

between firecrackers and gunshots,

the spaghetti-thin model maintains the lie,

vomiting off-camera. Sometimes fear is a gift.

We long for mountains and snow.

The upstairs neighbors have a big family

who all wear work boots, and happen

to be insomniac, giant centipedes.

The apartment is ludicrously

over-priced but convenienently near

to all the best beaches we don't visit.

What I do between dropped shoes

can not be called sleep. What you do

between sleep might be called dreaming.

Qualia, yours and mine, separate us.

So much suffering that we're cross-eyed from looking

away when there's nowhere to look but within.

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