They’re advertising tick vaccines again on big vinyl tarp
When you touch it it’s warm
It bounces a little in gentle wavelike lateral movement
A few days later, even if nothing happened
They suspend the giant insect down
By multiple strings, slowly
Bad mooded, hooded, brooding interns in chunky handyman shoes roll up the decommissioned plane
They leave it by their truck and sneak off to get a snack
While I figure out what would happen if I squeezed into the scroll
They wouldn’t notice a body in the roll
I do it and wiggle my way up to the tick
It has a big red belly
I observe it’s expandable shell
It embraces me with its eight jointed arms and I fall asleep until I find
They are bringing the tarp to a sunlit field
At the industry district
Where the bus stops aren’t named after streets but after factory parts
„Decommission Plant“
We melt waiting for our turn in the furnace.

It's always better in your head.
Thoughts like zombies feel through slits in walls of mind for new creative avenues.
The sun is white like tea paraphernalia, perhaps a blue and gold rimmed saucer,
and perhaps I am the cup.
A diplomat rises from his chair, throws an orange into the crowd, like he doesn’t know that the woman in row 14 seat B has an allergy to citrus.
He stays silent until the tea has gone cold and the meeting's out of session.
The birds rearrange their nests and the trees are low and thoughtful
with slits in trunks like navels from which a hand reaches through and grabs, grabs, grabs...

I looked out the window, goodness me
torrential rainfall in Germany

on the TV a reporter said
people are missing, many are dead

aerial views of the devastation
leave no room for the imagination

they show the extend of the flood
which left the area covered in mud

horrendous stories and detailed accounts
explain what happened and no one doubts

this is a direct result of the climate change
experts say, it's neither surprising nor very strange

The winter sky is dark, there is no moon;
The taxi’s lights reflects off tin can houses;
Taxi bump, a dog not a speed ****, driver will stop until noon;
Rival taxi speeds past with a bang by the side with the man and his spouse;
Her blood bitterly decorates the 18-seater, Lesha from Khayelitsha.

Where have the great games
of childhood gone?

Father and son
tossing the grenade

Little sister skipping
over ***** traps

Somehow, someway
we reached a cease fire
in the "eleventh hour
of the eleventh day
of the eleventh month"

Not sure which of us
was gaslighted
in the eerie orange
of shoreline blood
and the unsettled darkness

"You were right, I was wrong."
read the treatise

Somewhere, someway
an airplane missing
for nearly a century
descends from the clouds
and touches down
in an empty field

The fallen souls
of weaponry
unload on the tarmac

Let the games begin...

They wanted to go, but not today

But how many ways can you split the infinitive?

The wars upon the seashore harbor regrets of their own

Sanguine colors in the sand

They are reminders of blood filled horizons

Nonetheless, the tide that day offered only strangulation

Into the deep they went, never to return

In simpler times, they buried their dead at sea

Now they come to rest precisely where they fall

It's the new math: count on your fingers and toes the number of blows

But how many ways can you split infinity?

Hear the drumming?

On point
Off note

No tea
No sympathy

Battle drum
Stratagem

Clouded
Shroud

A waving flag
A wavering comfort

Peacefully
Pierced

Sharp pain
Dull wound

Pretty house with a white picket fence and dethorned rose garden, the bread crumbs lead to selfish tendencies

Detach
Separate

"Cut the kids in half"

Part for daddy
Part for mommy

Let them cry themselves to sleep
The drums shall stop

Divided worlds
United cruelty

Bedtime
Bedlam

Rush of blood
Knives out

The drumming never stops
Sudden isolation swallows them whole...