David Michael Wolach, "Rabocheye Dayelo"

The gendarmes: fastidious sparrows with semi-automatic documents raiding nests. December. They stole the newspapers but forgot to take the ideas.

Water is the reason god was invented. Oil is a byproduct of a discrete ineptitude in the upper strata. They buy t-shirts expressly for the occasion and never forget their fanny packs. Like small turds sparrows streak across a horizon lined with radio towers. Nobody broadcasts this.

Oil masks roads paved with good intentions. Intentions are hard to come by. Children say they've seen them. One might leave a plate of haroseth for a spontaneous arrival. Wine is too extravagant now. And nobody eats the brisket. Not even minor prophets.

Look for clearance sales at corner stores. Indications that aliens will be paying earth a visit. Blue-light specials attract more than one form. Shadows cast by these are long as the sun is low. Very low.

In Hamilton Ontario two tall stacks used to shoot flames from their mouths. One has gone out. Water at Rosie's is from the tap. Chlorine masks the idea of cocktail. Cock and Tail are what you get here. Luck is to be blamed. Someday that fire will rise again. Then you know the paper will mill disproportionately to demand. One small overlooked dividend will be:

the newspapers will reappear and not long before the gendarmes.