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of waves dropped into froth Jellyfish a jar of innards half-buried in sand Dead nature What are these things and who are they for? This blue rug is its own genre And these painted apples round out the essence of what can be made into what can be eaten Winter interest 3.9 APR April come She will not swipe the sun into sky Limits of credentialed credit “At least you’re not the janitor’s azaleas of the everyday dustpan” There’s the problem It’s like a concussive grenade at the end of the mine Mind the income gap Let’s activate the fact that every word means go back to the back of the line because that is where the front leads Years of the postmodern translated by the annuity of spring Hello My name is the first person I I am indebted I am indented I insist on remaining unidentified