The hippie gods of tree and field
gave way to an elaborate telenovela
of scheming olympians
which gave way to The One
that nobody can agree on.

When the world ends, it will end in squirrels.
The sun will warm our bald spots, and the wind
will blow the stench of our failures into someone
else’s kitchen. No more being sad about the price
of acorns. No more hollow trees filled with someone
else’s nuts.

I remember
the hour we lost.
It was April,
and the hundred-year-old trees were being born for the first time again.
I felt,
so briefly,
like I had control over time,
although of course I was only doing what I was told, like everyone else.

Farts are underrated. There! Somebody had to say it out loud and I, for one, have decided that I want to hold it in no more. I don’t know about you, but modern day farting has left me fairly dissatisfied and as a fellow fartsman, roughly discriminated too—the guilt, the secrecy, the cover ups and the denial! Ugh, denial’s the worst… it’s all very exhausting, to say the least. Like everything else in this world, I bet things weren’t this complicated back in the day. Yeah, I’m pretty sure they celebrated farts just as everything else but we don’t hear the history books talk about those, now do we? See? Discrimination.

This year has been awful. We’ve lost a lot of really good people and had to deal with some pretty crappy global events, culminating in a disastrous U.S. election (and then followed by even more deaths). Lots of folks are looking forward to 2017. Count me in, man.