Last night at April and Jordan's we went through different variations on the William Carlos Williams's plums/icebox poem. Here is my contribution:



I staunchly

believed in

free will.


And it turns out

the determinists

were right.


Forgive me,

I had no choice

in the matter.
It was good to go to dinner, and be surrounded by life.

I was wondering why the office was so quiet -
Laurine, our ombudsperson died on Saturday night;
I didn't know her very well, but I can see that my friends did, and that they're hurting;
an in-bed heart-attack; sudden; unexpected.

It still does not seem real: I expect her to show up tomorrow;
amicably baffled by this false rumour.
And, in the coming weeks, I will likely be surprised
that I haven't run into her, and then I'll remember.

This is one of life's post-its, it reads,
"you, and anyone you know, could die at any time."
"So act approprately"

New to me was this sudden desire to fuck.
You could explain it evolutionarily: a surprise death spurs the desire to repopulate the tribe...
(it's also the first death I've seen since with the new hormones)
...but that doesn't cut it. Rather, it feels like a way of saying "we're still here, right?"
Fly away resumes
settle and sprout on some foreign shore

send word if anything's of interest

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the_fantastic_ms_fox

August 2017

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