Animals attack whichever celebrity.
Everything else
can be summed up as tennis.
Statues yanked out
and the squares fill
with custard. Day’s equation
adjusts incrementally
for agile pushers, precarious
trucks. Darks and neons
plucked from our mouths
before we can ask.
What of those shades of menace
we lost, simply a matter of costume?
Your plane dropped eggs
on hapless villains,
who – accordingly chastened –
went home.
Read the rest of Overland 229
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