What Is Happening

William Stobb

By the time the century
of white blue black
weather was over
I had a storm spiral affixed to my mirror
with Scotch™ tape.
It will be hard to explain
believing in something larger
than the brands—I wanted
to think originally
but only used adhesives—“all you need
you have” sang the singer
who dated the biker
who changed his blood each week.
Iridescent flies
I think of as tiny
(though the bottom of that well
never plinks) vector against human
children currently
climbing our splintery
fence to play house in our decaying fort
with dangerous rope swing and broken
saint statue forever
amen that is until
someone ahem paints his head orange
making him gaudy and taken
by truck to another realm.
What is happening
seems mainly about to happen—
a fade into a possible other
sandbox strewn with trucks and full
of buried Superballs™
somewhere deep in in-
or external space. Un-nameable
entities are responsible
—close to thermodynamic, centrifugal—
for hurting people
but also allowing sex
and ice cream to be combined
which seemed like Janine’s idea
at the time.

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