by Susan Lewis
this is comical. While another pathetic fallacy bites the dust, rabid with enthusiasm. Syncope, entropy, & all that jazz. I'm talking about talking (below the belt). I'm talking about fishing you to attend. Or leave something behind. + animus, up front & otherwise. Until we flame & burn. Unless we frame & churn. A bolt from the blue like the slap of your nubile hand on some unsuspecting specimen of unknown etiology, ideologically inclined towards the populist from the angle of its left-leaning wing. The sort of fling that's all the buzz until it isn't. Until the lot of us go up in smoke like so many rootless synopses, synaptically unbound. & the invisible hand slapping us down, to dubious effect.
____________________
Susan Lewis is a regular contributor to this blog, and she has been guest editing textual poetry galleries for AlteredScale. She also appears in AlteredScale.com 3.
