Connections Poem #1165
Ants at the base of my skull, perusing Percussion instruments and fruit baskets, Under the blanket of Remorse, choosing Snap peas over pickles. My fresh mask gets Blown by the Breeze of Bartleby, obscured By Jude and Thomas, Foot in Mouth disease. It’s a cinch to hide in Mister Deasy’s Office with Epps Cocoa (though quite absurd). “Let’s take this picnic elsewhere!” says the ant. “Maybe to Mexico, or Khoreo, Seoul!” … And Peterson will soon recant His biased statements on old Borneo. My blanket is spinning, I’m choosing well. Like Bartleby, I’m gentle when I sell. -19 August 2026