some stay shut up in their rooms, unshrunken by the surroundings of all the penises cut off ancient statues, at least one— so you would be naive to deny—stimulated an orgasm, a prostate orgasm, in a priest (to say nothing of the nuns) such a lust for calamity throbs in our culture: when calling to ask “What’s wrong?,” our first hope (even—no, especially—with family) is to hear of ruin were it not for the event being captured on film, there would perhaps be less confusion, disagreement, about what really happened that seagulls are habituated to scavenging food from human centers (McDonald’s for fries) is one thing, but bears are as well husbands late for dinner, a sense of doom over the table, clinks kept few and minute by the kids would the masterpiece still floor you if you knew the artist to be just your childhood friend? microwaved babies a translation of a painting the fluffiness of street money dumped after she hit the lotto an ear kiss still ringing in the ear looking to the handicapped for a boost a rotten rowboat merging with the beach grooming and perfuming to ward off death the feminine-dandy aspect to the best pimps strangulation to ensure a pelt free of holes and stains the dissociation required of the bedwetter at sleepovers a trust fund of drugs and a gun, a starter-kit for the orphaned son obtaining consent the way that a member of its own species would those ecstatic times of highness in that ruining addiction of decades apple pickers who surf those waves of ripening rolling south the drowsy dog raises an ear of alertness at the sound of his own fart dad sucker punching you in the gut just as you are about to beat him for once in driveway basketball old ladies have preteen freedom from gender demands, except they cannot climb trees as well deemed a prank by a dispatcher ill-prepared for such trauma, the child’s call to 9-1-1 is for help to dig his dad from the graveyard scrunched postures before the mirror to feed the eating disorder: laxatives, food restriction, vomiting just as the coach makes the team run laps for the mistake of one, perhaps we should turn the electrocution dials up even higher on pc-violators by punishing people who merely