Poems
by KJ Hannah Greenberg
Fictional Critters Mutant Eggs
Its not just the volume of communication principles that impact
Social freedoms, but personal creativitys influence over assorted
Kinds of zooids.
On reflection, creatures tenias tend to bounce no deficit of stories
Concerned with reaching support during interstellar attacks. Grasp,
Salvos are deadly.
So, when lading rocketships, setting instruments to seta, its best to
Beseech midshipmen to remain fixed on electronic lateens, nuclear
Velums, alien seeds.
The progenies of gelatinous wildebeests forever touch on the degree
Of healing that five-headed hoydens can confer upon spoilt humans,
Also, derelict invaders.
Onions and Socks
Grandmas memory loss didnt reflect a coofs mentation, but the sorrowful veracity
Of aging. Her maintaining perennials, else cleaning windows, couldnt echo her dear
Loves wishes. That elders memory collectanea, too, chucked aside familial remarks,
Conversations from decades of interstellar experiences. Abruptly, Nanas heliopause
No longer split cognitions from imagined happenstances.
Her dog starved. Her cat died when accidentally bolted in a closet. Meanwhile, she shilly-
Shallied over peeling tomatoes or having them whole. Besides, she couldnt educe which
Shoe matched which foot, how to zipper dresses, or why soiled laundry went in hampers.
Friends phone numbers melted alike April snowflakes. As well, her usual walking course
Became as mystical to her as organic chemistry had been at university.
Most disturbing (she had been an English professor) were her tribulations per language.
Vocabularies ran athwart in her head. She made use of onions as undies when mail
Ordering clothing, confounding her aide, confusing her distributor. Lamenting methods
By which people used words, she fretted, hung about unable to sustain her self-imposed
Mission of enforcing independence and individual accountability.
Sometimes, when that elder unintentionally admitted access past her integument, people
Shuddered. There were few temporal/geographic landmarks left within her inner world.
Moreover, minus feedback, that crones peripheral reality shifted, embraced alien plants,
Outworlders, atmospheres infused with pinkish dust. Night was day for her, weeks had
No significance. The litterateur remained mute.
Occasionally and then increasingly so, she located senses near her sitting rooms exposed
Ceiling bulb as though that lights reflet could reestablish a stronghold for her victimized
Brain. Yet, that glassy patina, no matter its brilliant surface, fortified those elements long
Enslaved by darknesses that crafted generalizations out of the range of dialectic, similarly
Deflated nous, messed with common sense, reduced practical intelligence.
Her personal programme grew more restrictive. She began considering her beloveds as cult
Participants, as abusers. Precious people became addictions, slave masters, Mafia members.
Cringing and crying, shed turn away from visitors or threaten them with her invisible guns.
The persons able to enter her abode were well-advised to buttress themselves with pillows,
To consume giant spoonfuls of patience, to not cry.
Cats Cuddy
Fur and whiskers came together to organize the hunt.
On board, many, tiny, clawed feet scuddled, arousing
Captain and crew (traps, like poison, had miscarried.)
Initially, a local poverty of substantial communication
Kept sailors from noting. Next, irrational fear muffled
Their response. Queen was called to cull those raiders.
First, she demanded a cuddy. Anon, whole fish, eyes
Glazed by death, & sweet water (scarce commodity),
Gathered potato sacks for nesting were also exacted.
Eventually, after grooming all paws, cleaning her back,
Taking a fortnight worth of naps, she deigned to sniff
Out the intruders, distribute small bodies on all decks.
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