The Specialized Evolution of the Mutated Ant

With undisclosed sources of funding, our project was going quite well. The objective was to develop a secret society of super-ants which would combat terrorism, cause humans to hide underground like sand dogs. Within a large container supplied with piped in air, we grew several colonies of mutated ants. We observed and noted their daily behaviors. They built cities and highways, erected small pyramid-shaped monuments. Over a period of time, many grew bigger, stronger, could even stand upright. According to Heiseman, Fletcher, et. al., a scenario was outlined.
The ants rose from their cities, climbed along the walls of the glass and ate their way through the black rubber tops, which they must have mistaken for a betrayal of sky. Several must have hid in the back rooms of the lab and it was theorized that one of these killed the night watchman and escaped. The night it happened to me, I was in a sound sleep. Perhaps it located my whereabouts by gamma-Ga radiation.
I heard the clomping, something climbing up the steps, a slow, heavy rhythm, the sound, I imagine a serial killer makes to let his victim know what is in store. I awoke to the giant ant, pinning my arms to the bed with its virulent pincers. This mutated ant, I remembered, was one of my most fascinating subjects and we spent hours studying each other from either side of the glass receptacle. Staring into my face with its gleaming marble eyes and in a low, clear voice resembling my own, it now asked, Who is your god?

Berkely’s solipsism
i said wing dings, junior,
& no bugs in my bugles

Kyle Hemmings

The Specialized Evolution of the Mutated Ant

Graffiti

my balloon is free
I let it go
the air between us

Grass springs from cracks. Leaves scrape on stones. Wire creeps up a wall. A child holds out her hand.

welcome or farewell heart’s shadow

Diana Webb


(inspired by Graffiti claimed by Banksy South Bank London – photo Kathy deWitt

Graffiti

Blue Milk

What’s left of the Lucky Charms I mix in with a little bit of Life creating a tincture a serum a salve what-have-you that just might cure okay staunch I mean plug this feeling of being lost at sea this soupy blue milk is all I’ve got to slurp down dribble out so derelict have I become at prayers.

whiteout conditions signing my will

 

Peter Newton

Blue Milk