Birds strung on high-tension wires,
my tongue heavy in its thick hot nest,
I slip out. Arch Drive quiet.
Lily doing downward dog.
A few leaves float in the pool.
Arkady working on his children's
book with a message, about cats
in dogface in a minstrel show.
The convenience store where
I was asked to become an escort.
The cafe where paparazzi
camp out with telephoto lenses.
It's snowing. Rivers of fire
cut through mountains.
Chaparral burns, everyone
saying hello, hello. I try
to belong, to mimic sounds.
It's snowing. We wear masks.
We're all very nice. Sentient
beings, birds struck from the sky.
TODAY IN SLATE
The Democrats’ War at Home
How can the president’s party defend itself from the president’s foreign policy blunders?
Congress’ Public Shaming of the Secret Service Was Political Grandstanding at Its Best
Michigan’s Tradition of Football “Toughness” Needs to Go—Starting With Coach Hoke
Windows 8 Was So Bad That Microsoft Will Skip Straight to Windows 10
Homeland Is Good Again! For Now.
Cringing. Ducking. Mumbling.
How GOP candidates react whenever someone brings up reproductive rights or gay marriage.
You Deserve a Pre-cation
The smartest job perk you’ve never heard of.