The city’s buildings packed and pulsating like the krill we used to be: To be eaten by Job’s leviathan.
The countryside sliced with a pizza cutter: To be divvied up among the gods.
The full moon a communion wafer: To be dissolved on the pockmarked tongue of a forgiven sky.
The subdivisions: To be a pot of boiling water choking full of frogs.
The farms: To be discussed of which came first, the chicken or the shame?
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