After Dark

It’s never dark enough for me. I had to carry my fingernail clippings all the way to the woods & deliver them to the earth in secret so as not to feel completely parenthetical. A deer blew its nose at me from the other side of the shed. The sky behind it was pink with the lights from town.

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Every time I read the word stone I picture the head of a sheep. Something about domestic animals makes me want to ruminate, grow a second stomach or a gizzard, eat the leaves off trees until the sky is dead to them. Wild things frighten me with their too-clever eyes & the sudden clatter of their too-many feet. Thank god the insects stayed small.

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It turns out that if you blow on the slit in the back of a cicada shell, you can produce a high-piched whistle. (Remember, you read it here first!) Does it sound like a cicada? Of course not. It sounds like a very small appliance of unclear function. I saw an ad that said Hunters Wanted, & realized I was still wearing a blaze-orange vest. The sun had set hours ago, following an obscure schedule of its own devising.

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave's writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the "share alike" provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

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