Author: Greg R. Fishbone

Blink and you’ll miss itthey said,but every timeI open my eyesit’s still there.Can someonepleasetell me when it’s gone? 73/365

The clocks that struck thirteen in 1984 are now going off continuously. 71/365

Stay true to your wool, so heavy and full, from follicles born, and with honor worn, a horror when shorn, its loss you would mourn. 70/365

The newsies scattered, hawking the Daily Rigmarole to Monday commuters who never complained that all the names changed but the headlines stayed the same. 69/365

Beweir the phisherman’s net across your datastream that harvests the glittering carp of your identity. 68/365

Bred tiny, wolf-spawn remade into toys for fawning queens, by surreptitious means; Her gene-splicing Majesty causing the tragedy of Princess Peggy’s Pomeranian Pixie-Pup accidentally drowned in a china teacup. 67/365

“Cheese it, the copse!” shouted Dale, thinking he was so funny until the trees arrested him for littering the forest with his little orange cracker squares. 66/365

Future historians will speak of the American Involution, an inward-looking and inward-turning death spiral, the swirling detritus of former greatness flushed down a golden toilet. 65/365

On social media no one knows you’re a dog, you’re a bot, you’re a troll, you’re a poet, you’re a catfish, you’re a sock puppet, you’re a brand mascot, you’re the government, you’re an influencer, you’re a misinformation campaign, you’re the resistance. 64/365

Beyond the shadow of a doubt stretches the penumbra of a suspicion where I lie awake and contemplate our condition. 63/365

The Oscar gleamed in the spotlight on the mantelpiece under five layers of polish, testament to the enduring power of set design: “Best Balustrade in a Supporting Role!” 62/365