Day Nine: If You Want To Destroy This Poem, You Know What To Do
Could you even for one second imagine a world devoid of sweaters? Do not think harder than normal of the lack of spinning thread, thread of lies, a comment thread, a garment woven of spider's silk and quiet wrath. A loom creaks somewhere across town, a cold basement coughs, sputters, hacks, up its insides. We went deep, far too deep down and found it all unwound. The mayday sounds, Jenga falls down, chickens run around, and the sweater, your wooly veil, unspools.