Simple Theories

  Ants are stupid. They wander around in the spectrum of earth leaving trails of Formic acid. Darwin probably made them do this. Other ants follow the trails and there you have industry, Communist-style. That trail may lead to foodstuff--a dead worm, a piece of candy. This provides Ants with purpose tho it looks pretty stupid. The trail might lead to aphids, which ants milk for sugar or something. We call this a symbiotic relationship because neither side gets the better of the other. Ants wear Iron Man suits made from  sclerotin and possess super strength. So why don’t they fly around saving the world? Who knows, who cares? Ants staying occupied and following the formic acid keeps their Communism alive. Whatever they find at the far end of the formic trail they bring back to camp and whoever's in charge. No one gets rich in this system except that one in charge. No one voted for that ant, either, they just won the birthright lottery. The rest remain lumpen. You wouldn't know ...

So the tree frogs gather up there in the trees, logically and confirmingly. God—you know, as in  God —who has been known to flood the earth according to several reliable traditions, sends a good dousing, perhaps as a reminder. Untold tree frogs find themselves washed from the tree and maybe drowned or otherwise screwed. Well, what about that? No telling, the world is too much with us. Tree frogs don't represent a single species. They just happen to choose an arboreal habitat, much like you might choose to live in the boonies. Perched in trees on summer nights, the male chorus sings the frog version of sinuous mating call or whatever subtle rapture, unless swept away by the God of Downpour's parlour trick. It's all life in the frog lane, which indeed is your lane as too. Might as well go out singing, in the springtime minute.

  Survivors of aphesis, possums stand out as North America's only marsupial. They choose a marsupial lifestyle because the thimble-sized babies have yet the strength to bear this world's love. But they will grow, tho death is near, borne by mater, till they can live full possum life themselves. And live they do, with pointy claws and teeth, and a scrounging appetite. Their trick of feigning death when physically threatened seems casually unsustaining but they survive in a world of busy cars and roads to nowhere, just like you. What dimension might possums possess while faking a catatonic state? The opiate of owning never concerns them. Fear stands as just a contingency in the moment’s density. Possums hear the time it takes to live here. When every word has finished, so do you.