J. Zimmerman

The Ultra-Violet Catastrophe

the long storm
plasters the pier
with dead kelp

The men, giddy with fury and directives, are boring me into a siesta with their praise and their complaints about the President. Each woman has written a hundred letters to registered voters, one or two of whom might even vote if they get such a letter. I write checks to the ACLU. My twin tells me the number of my fat cells will never decrease; likewise the fat-headedness of this country. When the real aliens arrive will they use us as food or plough us under? We keep flashing our lights at the stars, mailing our artful SETI packages into the mechanized arms of the void. Livestock or fertilizer?

Planck's constant
and the Uncertainty Principle
the theme songs
of our lives
that we deny