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Treizain.

“The night before she dreamed she had won the Nobel Prize for Despair.”
—Fanny Howe, The Deep North via @jacobwren.bsky.social

Miss Macintosh on the radio.

“Nonlocality”

   Shells fall where
Shrapnel is far
   The eye-gloze
Glister harries
   And we are one
One with the torn flesh

   O believe
In your lurking
   The traceless
Of truce-armies
   And we are one
One with the torn flesh

   Particles
Join pawn to king
   The lifting
And loud falling
   And we are one
One with the torn flesh

   It’s gospel
Not to go there
   Left hand blind
To right’s blunder
   And we are one
One with the torn flesh

   The gurgle
Of a gorged drain
   The screaming
Neighbor a-scramble
   And we are one
One with the torn flesh

   So foolish
Is this failed chant
   No tame clown
Can heed if told
   And we are one
One with the torn flesh

Torn flesh and its song

It's happening.