The world’s markets are going
to ruin amid these newly imminent
threats of war. So we are reminded
art— words— must be the natural
beeswax wrap to keep all remaining
freshness in. Half a red watermelon
radish, last night’s squash, yesterday’s
forgotten sandwich. Danger and fear—
they always have a slick but clammy
texture. You wrap and rewrap the square
envelope, the long rectangle, the flat
disc. But let it not be said we were not
mindful of adding more waste to the already
denuded environment. Pressing carefully
around all the edges yields the proverbial
hermetic seal. How can the agitated
liquids inside the cup hear the splendid
carillons break open in the air? Bees
and locusts. Whales and cranes. Notched
wheels bearing powerful rain. All
the humid sounds on the outside,
like human breathing. That apple you
returned to the fridge after you bit
into it and then changed your mind.

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