Amoeba of the Internet Age

Phoebe Glick

Laughing stock of a useless moniker elm park when I was young or trying things on for size. I was rejected many times into a sloppy wall of clay and pipe leakage self-confidence drainage wisdom stuff my mom couldn’t know about me. I had a dream she was crying and wanted to be let in. Outside the door to the inside looks like it might lead to another outside. She got up from the table and in her eyes I saw wet humid earth picked over by pests. She wanted to know why I can’t pick someone who fits quite kindly into the outfitted schema of self-delusion plated typically for a manufactured intrigue in production. It’s like I rejected an offer of lordship and chose instead to be cosmically tested for flaws.