A body made of radar blips.

The way a maple wrinkles

away in rings, wrings out

molecules far too leaden

in jubilee to stay in place:


honeycomb veins churn

with breweries of gold.


Woodpeckers here, too

warm. I’d just get drunk

on myself before winter

or the blubber rots off


as pings begin to hibernate


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Hello, fellow bundle of nerves and flesh! I'm a simple little being who's half-poet, half-scientist, and all gelatinous chaos. Sort of like an illogical marshmallow. If you'd like to learn more, please seek out the "First Impressions" page. Thank you for the visit, bundle friend.

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