circular lightening bug of the sky.

This has always been here. I can call it something else, but it still subsists, scraping up the constellations of marked-up atmosphere. Everyone pushes and shoves their way forward in order to get a better view of it. Here. How about I take heated magnifying glass, pummel it into my neckbone and search out a song apropos of all this. How about nothing. How about you decide why it is so bothersome that some humans feel the need to wear secrets over scarves or sweaters and when memories are questioned, no witnesses are left with fully intact brains. What haven’t you got. Rather, what is it you still need. Get us a chisel over here. A surgeon without warning. We need a gas mask. We need a boat because the earth is trying to flood us out. Gather up your D batteries; quickly research the lineage of your middle name and the genetics of your toes; you may not have run over that child in your youth, but you were racing; seek out the name of that eidolon. This never went away. It seems to be getting bigger. Can you even pronounce it without grieving your teeth away. You may be one of those (now).