Ginny

As if nothing were new anymore, Except for the world ending— You remarked, your hands outstretched to usher a popping, crackling host,...

There you go again, blasting Arcade Fire's The Suburbs on headphones that betray all privacy! Your nose deep on the opposite side of a Pop Socket, you wonder, listless, when life might serve to entertain… The carrots and ranch you roll over your tongue  are zesty Midwest ambrosia, your egg-crate mattress topper A cumulous throne. You’re itching for a goddess or some sort of earthly nymph, but all who call upon you are those  with zest for: board game, "pupper," 40oz water bot

It was the first day of the fifth week that the sirens rang to signal soft lockdown. Through the pallid haze outside my front windows,...