my fortune cookie tells me that the value of a cup lies in its emptiness.
the bluebirds sang and wrappers crunched.
Homer’s brain told him it was gone fishin’ and he hadn’t any right to think;
my brain is childish and runs around in circles. we are following
a tinfoil path of snags and rumples.
life is that way, you tell me, of course; because this nest
of dictionaries and reassurances is not-to-be-disturbed fragile.
give it a stir and it disperses.
my fortune cookie says that there is a moral to this story if only i try hard enough.
but the cookie was crushed beneath someone's shoe.
~juniper
