Jellyfish love nuclear anything. Unthinking clarities, plugging up the reactor’s cooling fans with their warty combs and lion manes. They’ll take forever to fall for poems or fall out of love with natural history, but, in the meantime, they’ll float in a slow assault into our imaginations and endless scrolling feeds. Today is Tuesday. Today, while some fish fry, the jellyfish bob closer to gasses that blister into glowwater and empty headaches. Below the surface,  where science has yet to date us, the unprepared say you are mine and I am yours.
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