Deforestation
Mismatched living room couches threw up their stuffing onto the laminate wood floor. I threw up the antibiotics you surreptitiously buried in my meals. O chunky yellow puddles! O deficient sprinkler systems in the corners of mouths! O acorns under the tongue, parade of ambulances receding into the distance toward your complication, shorn by the blaring horizon. When you stub your toe, it's now a nub. There's the tub filled with Absolut Vodka, the product plug. Mark the case as unsolvable, turning thirty insoluble. We moved across the United States and demanded a refund. You get to that age. You blunder around, roll up your sleeves, and determine that somewhere you, not the transmission, went wrong, and that you can no longer afford to take your calls outside without being loud and toothy, a flowering tree.
---Stephen Danos
---found in elsewhere (No. 6; Winter 2015)