Sunday morning in Central Park, chilly September:
I stood, hungry, packed shoulder to shoulder with strangers,
feeling like one of the huddled, shivering Antarctic penguins
I'd observed, over Burmese takeout, on a nature show.
Their life seemed futile, like mine: eat, shit, molt, mate.
From The Human Realm, by Lisa Bellamy
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Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats. - H. L. Mencken
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