Ghost Ship Full of Cannibal Rats Could Be about to Crash into Devon Coast

But then again, it might not; there’s still time to divert its course if we all
pull together, acknowledge the unimpeachable reality of cannibal rats,
and beam our positive thinking toward that voluptuous shore, help her
fend off this assault, the scrabbling of vicious claws tearing tender rock. Or
shall we get lost in the seaweed that tangles our minds? Deny not only the
rats, but also the ship? Chalk it all up to some paranoid wish list of unlikely
events—even as that spectral prow laps the milk where land meets sea?

 

 

Be sure to check out Open Link Night at dVerse Poets every Tuesday p.m.

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Border Arrest May Be Connected with Target Credit Card Hack

On the border between Target and Walmart,
on the border between Costco and Sam’s Club,
on the border between desire and fulfillment,

somebody has your number.

In a conversion van with a seascape on the side,
in a putty-colored, green-cursored computer,
in a satellite dish pulling signals from space,

somebody has your number.

There is nothing you can do;
you will never rest again
now that you know,

somebody has your number.

 

 

If it’s Tuesday p.m., check out Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.

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Man Dead, Woman Missing from Chicago River Accident

Whatever it is, it isn’t worth it, though it seems so at the time.
A little climb on the rocks by the lake at night, in midwinter, or
a January midnight lunge into the river to retrieve a falling phone.
It only looks calm, navigable, shallow, that water. It only looks
placid, like it will happily receive you, help you find what you lost.
It will receive you. You may perceive that it is glad. You might find,
as you are fading, that nothing more is lost. But now your family
dredges up from some other depth this fact: You died at age 26
for a phone that is now waterlogged and frozen, no longer
sending any signal, no longer searching for you.

 

 

If it’s Tuesday p.m. (which it’s not right now), check out Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.

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Transported

But when I came back, I was celery
or a facsimile of celery, and it took me
a while to coordinate my leaves and
the pumping system that keeps me
occupied and crisp throughout the day.
I have no teeth anymore, or else I would
crunch myself, accidentally on purpose.
I had never been celery before, or even
been especially interested in celery,
because who is? Because it’s celery.
Because I am celery. Because I am.

 

 

Hey, it’s Tuesday, and Open Link Night is back. Check it out!

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