The Animal Who Wasn't There
Hours are misplaced and still the world needs an audience. One by one the animals disappear every day, taking their point of view with them. Spring was still nice this year but clouds fell apart, with water trying to get to the bottom of the problem. Birds are standing by, bees are anxious and murmuring about what to make of everything. Wolves pace and yelp with anticipation. Who's next? The throat of a remaining body swallows, deciding what to do about the missing. Something's gone terribly wrong and all I can do is pretend to be someone else, another kind of animal, one that lives off of all the fear in your eyes. You think it's all luck, wandering around, pirating and pillaging, the best of the best. I disagree. There's the rumor of an island that no one can reach where all the extinct, lost, and discarded animals gather and are waiting. For what?