We sink into the water. It’s the closest thing to making love in outer space, which in turn, I understand, is the closest thing to one of the ancient gods chuckling at the divine and ancient equivalence of a firefly. We join the jellyfish club, and six
Oh, crazy speech, liberated from the cause itself! Oh, human clamshell still slippery with the grease of sex! Oh, heaven-bound ephemera above our houses like space junk built from a much needed summer rain! Oh, telltale stain on the soul! Oh, ghost of Otis Redding! Oh, cheese course!
We left town just before the riots. The TV eyes, big and red but discreetly placed, caught it all: Tear gas and faulty fasteners. In that little village of longer shadows and taller trees, we hid. We disguised ourselves as Madame Hydra and Ego the