Rock Accountant

I Love You by Sara Teasdale


When April bends above me
And finds me fast asleep,
Dust need not keep the secret
A live heart died to keep.

When April tells the thrushes,
The meadow-larks will know,
And pipe the three words lightly
To all the winds that blow.

Above his roof the swallows,
In notes like far-blown rain,
Will tell the little sparrow
Beside his window-pane.

O sparrow, little sparrow,
When I am fast asleep,
Then tell my love the secret
That I have died to keep.

The Light

I am beginning to see the light at the end of my tunnel. If Mr. Trump loses to the forces of Good, then the Media, whom I loathe with a rabid psychopathy, will have bankrupted itself. So I win.
They will be compelled to have sex with the only girl left in the bar when the lights come on at four in the morning. For eight years.

Who Would Have Guessed?

I would never have guessed that the slaughter of Muslims for the last fifteen years in the Middle East by the Western Democracies was nothing compared to identifying them before they enter our countries. It was Mr. Trump’s blunder to be against attacking Iraq. He should have realized, in a Democracy, you must always pretend murder is not prejudice.

Don’t You Just Get Tired Of Being Human?

I think we have  evidenced ourselves to be a species that is ready for big change.
Now I am not recommending that alarms begin going off throughout the land, but when the venerable New York Times hints that robots and artificial intelligence are just around the corner, it might be nobler for us to look in the mirror and go cheerfully.
This suspense of waiting around for the next meteor is killing me. We have wanted us to end for a long time. I grew up with the Ice Age that scared the shit out of me until I was fifteen and discovered drugs. Now we have Global Warming which is plainly wishful thinking. We want to move on and join those lumbering dinosaurs who must have grown tired of hunting for big and tall shops.
Our kids are ready now. They would like nothing better than to be crammed into their cell phones  to be closer to their twenty million FaceBook friends.
Most of us are just hanging around for the next season of “Game of Thrones.” And while I will miss Ray Donovan he is not worth the effort to salvage the human pedigree in my opinion.
I know that my neighbor, who is a Steeler fan as well, will read this as a too hasty abandonment of optimism for the human race.
But the outside chance of making the playoffs is not enough for us to prize remaining human. Unless, of course, we were to win out.

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