Table Forty: Joseph Suglia

1. All of the plasms of the biosphere are rearranging themselves.

2. A clothing rack is wheeling down the sidewalk. A clothing rack with brightly colored halter tops and dresses. The clothing rack is borne by the wind.

3. Brilliant strawberries are growing at unimaginable speeds. Oranges are fruiting from the orange trees.

4. Even more tree trunks, crested with tangled branches, thrust up from the earth.

5. The climbers and scramblers, they climb and scramble, creep and ascend. Everywhere across the city, a congestion of vines, bamboos, and trees—the webbings and knittings of an impenetrable jungle.

6. Spiky leaves rise into the air—the plants are shuddering and shivering and soaring into the sky, blotting out the sun with their verdant growth, with their pulsing paddle-like leaves. The garden is enlarging. You are being engulfed by the ever-widening jungle. You are communing with the verdant paradise.

7. Energetic plants with myriads of purple tassels emerge from the sewer grates. Plants with purple pasties.

8. Rhizomes and tubers, white and serpentine, are slithering over the streets. Heart-shaped glossy semi-green leaves and blossoms with protuberant pink spadices, succulent floral spikes, form a living, undulating, variegated wreath—a wreath of life that chokes life.

9. European white storks, puffily white with black under-plumage, arch back their loopy necks and clack their bills in machine-gun succession, filling the space with a cacophony of clacking. They clap and clack their mandibles, perched on spindly orange legs, the savage raptors. Their clacking—it is like two thin wooden boards snapping together. Both heads are snapping and clacking and clapping, their loopy necks arched back, the clapping and clattering perfectly synchronized as if the storks were performing an avian ballet.

10. A scaly pangolin hangs from a branch with its gripping serpentine tail. The pangolin yo-yos on the branch, scaly dangler, uncoiling and retracting.

11. A weasel lifts itself erect and scratches the tree bark.

12. Solemn on the branches, watchful and sedate, there is a parliament of owls.

13. Beneath the cover of the thicket squirm and slither black snakes.

14. A tangle of overgrowth entangles the roofs of the apartment buildings and the condominiums.

15. Fiercely piercing bristles of grass permeate the red rug.

16. Rain drops pelt your face. You look at the sheening black-wet pelts of the panthers as they skulk through the rain curtains.

17. You are uncamouflaged and alone.

18. The great tree’s pulpy fruit is pelting the pavement and smashing against the solid ground and melting into yogurt-like ooze.

19. You sight the white flash of a deer’s white tail as the deer shape bounds past you.

20. The finches, air sprites, dazzle the crowd.

21. You hear a low bellowing and see the brisk movement of the hedges and foliage and know that something animal is scampering through the underbrush.

22. To your right is a precipice.

23. Illuminated advertisements light up the night.

24. The hair salon is now a grotto; the art gallery is now a lagoon. The Christian Science Reading Room is a lunar harbor.

25. The spacious night streets that you amble down welcome you.

26. The passers-by are walking slowly, with heads aloft, gazing at the rising vegetation. You notice the sluggish sleepiness of their gait.

27. He yanks open the door and slouches back into the room.

28. Before, carnivory was a luxury. Now, human beings are compelled to vegetarianism or veganism.

29. The vines extend their green tentacles over the red automobile.

30. Streams of milk break through the fissures in the fissile wall.

31. Streamlets of milk worm across the checkerboard tiling, moistening your feet.

32. In the jeweled gloom of the dusk, there are exotic black birds with silvery diamond patterns on their plumage. What birds are these?

33. Twisty, braided vines are shooting into the windows and storming beneath the doors.

34. Sunlight invades the room in clean shafts.

35. As the greenery unfurls before you like a painting, you see the nail-and-eyebrow salons, pharmacies, and outdoor cafes gradually disappearing, receding into the spaces between the green.

36. Watch the milk-splattered jeep as it splashes through the milk.

37. Cascading milk envelops the toys and the dolls.

38. In the swampy thickness, human tourists lave their arms and legs.

39. He slaps down the corridor in his slippers.

40. You walk beneath the vaulted archway.

41. Sunlight slants into the room and illuminates a futon covered in a purple satin blanket.

42. The sudden stare, so full of black hatred, dismays you.

43. Tree shadows fall on her pallid face and leave zebra stripes.

44. Walking through this botanical metropolis, you feel more at home than you ever felt in the human world.

45. A pride of cats, black and hissing, stalks the underbrush.

46. Under a flowering peach tree, the tiger is buried.

47. She reaches out with one arm, grabs the branch of a tree, and pulls it to her.

48. Racing down the branch, his limbs flailing, the man capsizes to the ground.

49. In this Edenic garden, there are humans with viperine tongues.

50. She is sneaking away into the midnight distance.

51. A tree with leafage that looks like a girl’s uncombed hair is shuddering in the wind.

52. The gusts of wind are not sighing or moaning—they are bleating like sheep.

53. You have stumbled into the animal’s lair.

54. Towering sausage trees are transcending to the sky.

55. Clattering down the sloping street are baby carriages congested with squirming weasel, ferrets, and tiger cubs.

56. Swinish human beings, grubbing for snowboards and iPhones, are rummaging through the shopping-center rubble.

57. A gigantic grizzly is standing on its hind legs. It jumps at a triad of deer, charging at the deer, which sprint in three directions.

58. You observe all of this from your observatory.

59. You sally forth into the vaporous street.

60. Fastening the door behind you, you turn to the left. You clatter down the staircase.

61. Alligators: They looks like dinosaurs, terrible lizards with the hearts of birds.

62. Snatching the letter from his hands, the old woman snarls.

63. The wind ruffling the hair on its back, the buffalo snores.

64. The cooing of a toucan alarms you.

65. Enjoying the pleasures of food, scratching themselves, the orangutans are squatting on the ground.

66. Iguanas are scaling the walls, while pangolins are nosing the walls, their paws scratching off the paint.

67. Human beings are weeding the weeds along the banks, gathering flowers for a broth.

68. Clutching the spreading branches, you thrust one leg after another into the thorny net, inserting your body through the hollows.

69. Light is filtering through the filigreed leaves on to your forehead, an intricate pattern of light and shadow, wandering pilgrim, itinerant seer.

70. Undulating, beating their long flagellae, jellyfish are ballooning in the tank.

71. Mud-covered tourists are sloughing through the mud.

72. He stands up, stretches his arms, and walks to the window. He surveys the greening city.

73. You blink your eyes, and the boy disappears.

74. You look down the edge of the precipice.

75. Wriggling out from beneath the bed sheets is a nest of snakes.

76. You fasten the window shade.

77. The frontier of the city is enshrouded in fog.

78. The condor umbrellas its wings and whishes downward.

79. They draw their beaks over the curtains, tearing them asunder.

80. A yellow-raincoated man steps out of the building and into the street, bearing an umbrella.

81. The entry of the culvert is waist-high and covered by a ledge of granite.

82. You stoop to peer into the opening.

83. Beneath the granite overhang are cowering humans, cowering in the dark.

84. Your body slips sideways, and you are tumbling down a grassy slope.

85. Your eyes fix on the entrance, where a column of light penetrates the blackness.

86. A gelatinous red substance is smeared over the bread.

87. With a coarsely serrated saw, he cuts through the wood.

88. He slumps against the hill, unclutching his walking stick.

89. There is a man in his hideout, watching the slinking cats through binoculars.

90. A sandaled blonde girl with a rainbowed T-shirt joins the throng.

91. The pelicans, intrigued by you, waddle toward you and peck at your clothing.

92. It is a box of dark wood paneling.

93. Illuminated by a phosphorescent fluorescence, the elephants trumpet their terrible calls.

94. She extends her right arm toward the jungle behind her.

95. The vines are the color of oregano.

96. This triggers a strange reaction from the cat.

97. She settles into a wicker chair and snatches a book from the white coffee table beside her.

98. They are tossing milk into the street from water pails.

99. You can hear the clanging of a bell and the whirring of a siren.

100. Hooked into the virtual world, they sleep their solipsistic sleep.

101. She runs her left hand absently over the dog’s coat.

102. Spraying milk everywhere, the coming stampede heads north.

103. Look at all of the carapaces bobbing up and down as they weave their way into the market. Ovoid things, egg-shaped creatures.

104. A cyclone of vultures is swirling over your head.

105. Squeezing through the door, the wildebeest and oryx seem to be talking to you. But they make no sound.

106. Spasmodic weasels spasm their way through the Best Buy.

107. Looking with rapture on the gleaming field, you see that is populated by squirmy animals.

108. Revenant shapes appear before you, nightwalkers walking through the night.

109. Alighting on the refrigerator, a massively winged vulture bows its wrinkled neck and ruffles its feathers restively.

110. Gyrating in gyres, the vultures and the buzzards are watching over you.

111. An African white-backed vulture hangs in the air, its talons tucked in.

112. You hear the chirping of birds, the whirring of whirling insects, and the chittering of cellular telephones.

113. The irruptions of the plants and the appearances of the animals have fertilized the entire city.

114. The raft drifts away into the wash. The rafters drift away into the rinse.

115. You stumble over the toppled wire fencing.

116. The pinkish clouds as they rise above the trees and drift across the skyscape.

117. Staring at your mirrored reflection in the ceiling, you admire your ears. Your ears are like French crullers glutted with lemon yogurt. Your auricular helix whorls like a conch shell.

118. See all of the hominids. They run, splattering the whitish fluids against the wall.

119. An owlish postman quietly awaits the coming of the animals.

120. Grapes are growing slowly in the fog.

121. The cold hurts.

122. Spotted dikkops are bowing their heads into the baptismal basin of milk, their legs propping them up. The contradiction between their hungry downturned beaks and their lofty legs surprises and amuses you.

123. Drunk on the sight of the new-sprouting semi-translucent purplish grapes, the Goth boy drops to his knees and kisses the vines.

124. A horned owl is sweeping through the plum-colored sky.

125. The street resembles the epidermis of a human being, with all of the creases and crevices of the skin, with all of the nodes and lobes of the human flesh.

126. The barn owls bolt down the peach-flesh.

127. Mice nibble on the apples.

128. As the herds magnify before you, you become aware of the shrinking of human spaces.

129. Lammergeier vultures are seizing bones vertically and shattering bone against rock with bone-shattering glee.

130. You see a raven perched on the twig. The raven is coming for you, its wings flogging the air. Now the raven is coming at you, shards of black gloss shimmering. Its cast-iron bill jackhammers the rock.

131. Cawing raucously, a flock of crows is floating high over the zebra herd.

132. A bustling cluster of blackbirds is pecking at a seed-spill.

133. A hummingbird nestles in its nest of human hair, an egg cup bedecked with lichen and human sweater lint.

134. See the up-gushing mop heads of the lushly leaved willow trees.

135. A little spill of daylight leaks inside. The daylight is the color of a chicken yolk.

136. Boulevards are unraveling in all directions.

137. The children are bathing in the miraculous treat that spouts from an invisible teat.

138. Milk-film sticks viscously to the walls, a kind of sticky milk-jam.

139. Climbing up the flight of stairs, you head toward the door.

140. The man enters the room.

141. A fever ignites in the television set, a frothy phosphorescence.

142. She smells like a sausage decomposing in the sun.

143. An expanse of green grass lies before you, speckled with yellow flowers and droplets of sun—this is too real to be kitsch, too living to be a cliché.

144. Nettled by nettles, a solitary musk ox noses through the underbrush.

145. He looks at you through batrachian eyes.

146. Those otiose tortoises, those solitary wanderers.

147. The sidewalk is fringed with dandelions.

148. You roam across the pavilion, imagining with a dreamy certainty that human animals will never again be able to establish their dominion over animal life.

149. Down the sloping lawn, the quivering cedars form a tangle of branches.

150. A tree with foliage that looks like the bristles of a broom has sprouted up through the fissured tar.

151. Without anxiety, you walk across the room.

152. As you ascend the staircase, you hear a humming behind you.

153. Energetically, dynamically, you jaunt into the room.

154. The police are swinging their batons, and all you see is a flurry of black nightsticks.

155. Whirling fish eagles are whirling overhead.

156. A shattering peal erupts from the building.

157. Sylph of this jungle, hanging on a bough, the arboreal genet yawns.

158. The automobile lurches to a halt in the milky residue.

159. Immense glass buildings stand over you, glass buildings webbed with green vines.

160. The highway leads to even more greenage—it would be a mistake to believe that there could be some escape from the spreading green, from the expanding pan-garden.

161. The slate-roofed buildings are covered in orange groves.

162. The exterior of the building is lit by floodlights.

163. The sunlight reflects on the steel and glass surfaces.

164. The police officers pry the struggling owl free from the bamboo vine cage.

165. Humans are now en prise—exposed, vulnerable to capture.

166. Wriggling and writhing, the snakes wiggle over the rug of leaves.

167. She is looking at the wild grass with an impenetrable gaze.

168. Green filaments are wrapping themselves around the hamburger eatery.

169. The boys are flinging milk balls at one another, balls of congealed milk.

170. The red-stockinged missionary is embracing the stems of the flowers.

171. She slips into the room and softly steps toward you.

172. He turns on the kitchen faucet.

173. With a liquid gaze, you survey the room.

174. The human beings flood the garden.

175. The deepening dark.

176. TESTING: ONE, TWO, THREE.

177. As if “every human being who remains in the city will perish” were a festive thought.

178. A lone Goth is striding elegantly to the dark hills.

179. Pocketing some of the chestnuts that have precipitated from a triad of newly grown chestnut trees. The trees form a small circle.

180. Hear the snoring of wildebeests.

181. A tangle of black hedges.

182. The bread-eating humans are eating in packs, eating their bread without butter.

183. They fear that the ingestion of dead animals would roil the living animals that have colonized the city.

184. They fear that carnivorism would be translated as an act of provocation.

185. Green, vine-encrusted trunks and vast flowing vineyards explode upward in a volley of green blasts. Between the bursts of foliage you can occasionally see flashes of human flesh.

186. He titivates himself in the mirror.

187. There is a winged figure in the middle of the intersection, a woman wearing filthy artificial wings—wings that are a damp and dampened white.

188. Veined leaves touch his cheeks.

189. You are alarmed by his bluntness but say nothing, running your fingers through the shag.

190. Stems wind their way around his ankles.

191. Black fruit dangles from the vine.

192. Surrounding you are scrofulous warehouse-sized lounges, restaurants, hair-and-nail salons, and banks: disintegrating buildings that are cloaked in vines.

193. Milkfall floods the streets, a thickening deluge of milk rising ankle-high.

194. As if it were a sanctum where human sacrifice takes place.

195. Raising itself in flapping flight, the raptor ascends windily.

196. The whining and growling of the crows fill your perked ears.

197. Some of the pelicans are windmilling through the air, flapping and fluttering wildly.

198. He jerks open the door and stares at you ungrinningly.

199. The shivering fronds of the palm trees entrance you.

200. The women are shucking corn in the muck.

201. Sheep are racing down the steep savannah.

202. Beneath the surface of the milk, kelp-stalks dance.

203. Lucid sky, the sky is a lucid blue.

204. A shower storms down on the human wanderers.

205. Like a beautiful dead woman, she lies there without moving.  It is as if she were beautifully dead.

206. Her lips cleaved, she sings a few verses from “Sundown” by Gordon Lightfoot.

207. Within the shafts of daylight projecting through the slants are dancing particles of dust.

208. Scenting the deep, pungent aroma of a wood-burning stove, you somnambulate into the room.

209. Now the McDonald’s and the Kentucky Fried Chickens are populated by flora and fauna and no human life. Human beings are wandering about in moving human islands, ignorant of the ways of venery—how to hunt a beast? how to trap a beast? how to kill a beast?—and fearful of a mass-animal backlash.

210. You hear the poppings of gun shots in the distance.

211. Moving through, scything through the receding partitions of green, a tribe of humans looks for shelter.

212. Like zookeepers watching the back-and-forth movements of caged tigers, the animals are admiring their human pets as they stride back and forth.

213. The majestic elephant sprays its thick hide with milk emitted from its snorkel-trunk.

214. They fly off in long strings, all trails of beating wings and puffed-out plumage.

215. Hippopotami are making their pilgrimage through the shopping mall.

216. He rolls on the ground, covered in white and black rabbits.

217. The human sanctuary is now being torn down by the rabid beasts.

218. Snickering koalas and sniggering baboons snigger and snicker at you and your human colleagues.

219. Speckled hyenas race into the clothing store, their crazed tongues lapping.

220. The hyenas are running after the magenta and green dresses, pulling down the dresses, snuffling mad hyenas.

221. You see a hyena nibbling and teething the fleshy toothsome pink meat of a medium-rare filet mignon and hear the hyena snorting.

222. Every animal is in the forest of the city, it seems—every beast and fowl except for the Dodo Bird and the Tasmanian Tiger.

223. Grinning-teeth zebra look at you grinningly, their sleek striped bulk bright under the fluorescence, and stamp their hooves.

224. It is hard to believe that there was once a time when human “masters” would sic what they believed to be their dogs on other humans.

225. A spray of orange flowers in her hair, the wispy woman drifts through the garden, where the wasps are dancing and circling.

226. It is possible that human and sheep could coexist sheepishly on the planet.

227. You make your way through the crowd—the frowsy and drowsy crowd that envelops you.

228. The minotaurian man is laughing joylessly as the world that he once knew topples into the dirt.

229. He is a man like a centaur.

230. A girl in yellow rubber boots is sloshing through the milk.

231. Snakes, eagles, and crocodiles are on the watch for mice.

232. The mice are corkscrewing their way through holes in the wall, now grown porous.

233. You look into the void, and the void does not sadden you. It is a happy void, a blossoming void, not a hole of hell.

234. The hogweed is sawing in the wind.

235. The verandah creates a vacuum, a shelter from the gusts.

236. These are trees that yield funny yellow fruit, gourd-shaped and waxy.

237. You hear the resonant chattering of the capybaras.

238. Pink-wattled condors, their face-skin like raw skin, boomerang in a semicircle.

239. A slow, heavy boy shambles toward you, zombie-like.

240. He slips into the primeval forest.

241. The crowd is stirred into a high state of tension.

242. His face is striated with lines of concentration.

243. You hear the whisperings of the humans.

244. Wolverine, wolves, hyena, and lynx huddle together in a circle.

245. Overhead, a great American Eagle spreads its wings.

246. The wind clears the clouds from the sky.

247. At the crest of the awning is an angelic figure—humanoid, female, and seraphic, the figure’s vast wings spread.

248. A skeletal elderly woman comes muttering along.

249. The walls of the building are painted orange and green.

250. A hive of animal activity.

251. The exigencies of survival have not displaced rituals of worship. On the contrary. The distress and direness of the human situation have, if anything, multiplied these rituals everywhere.

252. Above you swarms a storm of hornets, ready to descend on the families in the trailer park a few miles to the north.

253. Voracious predators of every stripe gather in the forest, waiting for hapless humans to wander within. You listen to the howling of the verminous beasts.

254. The mole digs with its diggers, its oversize claws, and twitches its twitchers, as it burrows into its hibernation burrow, a nest of gritty litter.

255. A tribe of humans, looking very much like a vaudevillian troupe, has gathered around a bonfire.

256. Monkeys and dogs reach out to you promiscuously as you walk down the sidewalk.

257. You see the figure of a girl silhouetted against the bright floodlights.

258. Slinking pards are slinking after elk, sneakily sneaking pards with slow black forepaws.

259. You see a dog walking his pet human. You see a boar walking her pet human.

260. In the feline and avian hierarchies, the female seems somehow strangely less beautiful than the male or at least less embellished.

261. Thrashing through the foliage is an elegantly violent panther with a clean, lethal mouth.

262. Somewhere in the darkness, the great cats are viciously eviscerating elk and llamas.

263. You hear a clacking and a cracking in the distance.

264. The spectral horses are wafting through the night.

265. The animals are hiding in the darkening wood.

266. The possessions are possessed by the boars.

267. Two young boys, garbed in red overalls, stroll over the midnightly streets like rolling automata.

268. The liquescence of the city. The milk is the liquefacient that liquefies the city.

269. Listen to the crazy dogs rustling in the leaves.

270. A twig snaps.

271. His legs splayed, he beats the ground with his fists.

272. The herd drives forward, propelling across the field.

273. These are twisting plants with awl-shaped horns—the leaves are green, the horns are anaemically white.

274. The animals populate the bestiaries of the night.

275. The bird is grasping a mobile telephone in her talons.

276. Slithering down the trunks of the trees are arboreal boys.

277. The animal shoots out its claw, raking into the smoothness. The claw hooks into the flesh and tears.

278. Settling down to feed, the hyenas are chewing smackingly, devouring their prey.

279. Driving the elk to the ground, the panthers are preying.

280. The lion is pounding at the window in a flurry of paws.

281. The elephant tramps silently into the club and trumpets shrilly.

282. The elephant sinks flabbily to the ground.

283. His mouth slobbering, he slouches into his coat.

284. The humans are wrestling in the milk like roaring bears.

285. He sags to the floor without a sound.

286. His beauty is beautiful.

287. Baying hounds arch back their necks.

288. Her jaws slam shut on the vehicle.

289. Her head is the shape of a cantaloupe.

290. Snarling as she advances, the cat is coming closer.

291. The Human Resources manageress looks like a sea-ogress. She flashes a flashing smile that seems out of place. Behind her, an ever-erupting jungle of bestial madness.

292. A hawk-faced former bartender shovels the milk overflow into the gutters.

293. With the Ice Age came the mass death of mammals. Here, we have the mass proliferation of mammals, the exact obverse of the Ice Age.

294. You are trapped there—in the street—as the herd rushes by.

295. Humans have now resigned themselves to culling and procuring fresh fruit.

296. Human-watching giant otters and human-watching leopards come together to watch the human beings as they lurch down the milk-flood streets.

297. Hovering clouds of flies are hovering over a fallen antelope sprawled out in the middle of the street—alive, not dead. You turn your head away.

298. Like them, you are hypnotized by the hypnotizing beauty of the tigers.

299. The egrets are swallowing the chocolates and the gumballs.

300. Covering the trench with wooden boards, the humans huddle in the lamp-lit trench, huddling in their Snuggies and chattering into their BlackBerries and iPhones.

301. A lurking anaconda is lurking, waiting to swallow a tapir.

302. Some of the vines have finger-like projections—and they are waving at you, the finger-like projections of the vines.

303. You distinguish a mob of humans drifting through the fog.

304. Dandy of the jungle, the radiant parrot wafts through the benighted space.

305. While her husband slaves in the field, harvesting the corn that sprouts from the pavement, she feeds the carp that dance in the river behind their makeshift homestead.

306. She snaps on the light and drops into a tall white chair.

307. You hear a fizzing and a fizzling in the distance.

308. Gripping their parasols, the women splash across the milk-splashy street.

309. Behind him, you notice something that you had noticed before.

310. A school of young boys are swimming in the deepening milk-street deeps.

311. Lugging a sack of God-knows-what, she retreats into a doorway. Her smile is empty and lingers there on her face like the skeleton of a dead feeling.

312. You see the spaghetti-like masses of wormy-tentacled squirming squid in the milky epidermis.

313. Sausages—meat in hyper-thin casings.

314. His face is like a bag of skin tightened around a skull.

315. She spreads her angry wet talons.

316. His lips are twin larval squirmers.

317. Bulbous babies bubble and burble in strollers pushed by long-haired blonde women wearing black yoga pants.

318. Now, the babies are shrilling manically and maniacally.

319. Before you is a fence entangled in knotted wire and vine.

320. They regard you with nervous passion.

321. Avanti!

322. Their udders are blue-membraned.

323. Channeling through the speakers is the music of sunfish.

324. Purple lights bob from the ceiling like electric pomegranates.

325. You unpurse your lips and say nothing.

326. Below you, swelling blood mushrooms.

327. She unsutures her lips.

328. Let them cross their legs on the sand.

329. There they are, the humans, trying to eat their inesculent food.

330. You hear her laugh sunnily.

331. You scan the fleeting shape of this young woman.

332. And here is a city, for the first time in millennia, unmarked by the graphemes of time.

333. They are parasoled under their parasols, bescarfed in their scarfs.

334. You flow together, voiding your minds of cloudy thoughts.

335. A digital mirage of flesh fills the cube.

336. The houses shiver nearly imperceptibly as the wind blows through the city.

337. Her brown dress looks like the soiled cassock of a monk.

338. Flailing wildly, the tendrils of vines rope themselves around the steel girders.

339. Reeling down the night streets, you pursue the boy.

340. Lunging toward their quarry with muscular forearms, the tigers are tearing toward the darting deer.

341. White polyps are thrashing in the milk. Yes: There they are. There they are: White polyps, with filamentous tentacles, are thrashing in the bubbling milk. Covering the smooth ectoderm of the polyps are clusters of knob-shaped excrescences. Their knobs are throbbing.

342. You are surrounded by yelping hounds and chattering monkeys clattering down the street lamps and building walls.

343. He rhythmically opens and unopens his knees as he talks.

344. The hippopotami trundle from their milky lairs, over the banks, and on to Clark Street.

345. He looks like an oversize tree frog.

346. Moistening his tongue, he continues his speech.

347. Birds with arrow-shaped orange beaks whistle through the green geranium.

348. Pliantly, they bow to the lowing animal herd.

349. This sour-visaged witch of a woman smirks at you, then scowls. In her previous life, she was a Human Resources manageress.

350. Sopping wet in Bermuda trunks that cling to his thighs like fungi, the banker climbs on to the bank.

351. No hunters to hunt them, no stalkers to stalk them, no bushmeat traders to bushwhack them—the animals are free, whatever that means. Humans cower in the shadows, fearing reprisal from their animal brothers and sisters.

352. The hippopotamus shuffles its little legs, little legs which prop its massive bulk. Yawning its maw, the hippopotamus opens its jaw opens to a perpendicular angle. You can see the hippopotamus’s gum line, its protruding incisors, the abyss of its gullet. You feel the gravitational pull of its larynx.

353. The hippopotamus bellows and rushes at the Hyundai.

354. It is late evening, and the sky is a darkish red. You walk alongside a long wooden bench. A skulk of foxes is skulking on the long wooden bench. The foxes are curled up, sleeping on the long wooden bench. A young woman with dyed red hair, around twenty-six, is sitting on the bench, absently stroking the fur of one of the foxes. She is sulking and smoking a thin white cigarette.

355. The sky is an auroral pink, like the pink frosting of frosty pink-cream doughnuts.

356. You step over a blueberry bush, which fills the doorway, and insinuate into the studio.

357. You survey a corner of the vast lagoon from the vista of the window.

358. Before they invade you, the mosquitoes dance in a circle.

359. Loose and wet, freed from their aquarium cubes, the glisteningly fat Moray eels.

360. The window offers a prospect on to the happy jungle.

361. They are dappled by mottled shadows.

362. A jolt of gratitude passes through you—you are still alive, after all, and not dead.

363. She sighs deliriously. His stick prods the jungle plants.

364. She opens her carmine lips and looses screeches of an ear-piercing violence.

365. The rogue taxi driver, his hands clutching the wheel, is now a permanent piece of furniture in the youth hostel of your memory.

366. His fingertips turtle toward you.

367. Asplash in the milk are a slippery pygmy hippopotamus and a white goat—the white goat is laving itself in the white salve.

368. Sobbing, the woman soberly removes her hat.

369. They (the birds) empty their cargo into the abyss.

370. Capsizing into the foam, the marine mammal.

371. They lunge-feed, gorging on the mammoth whale.

372. The whale-watchers are eating their lunches.

373. Husband leaves wife, wife leaves husband, husband leaves family, wife leaves family, and love fluidifies more quickly than a ball of wax in a microwave.

374. Watching from the verandah of the house, they observe her as she suns herself on a deck chair beside the rushing milk river.

375. The elderly man with grey gloves and skin the texture of parchment walks as if on a pair of stilts.

376. As he makes his way into the butcher’s shop, the patrons stare at him.

377. The tables are translucent.

378. You feel an aortal throb coming through the animal’s thickly shagged coat.

379. Her skirt is a fuzzy nimbus containing vague symmetries and hidden promises.

380. Phantom figures enfolding seagulls in their hands.

381. The seagull snatches the doughnut from the counter, catching it with its bill. The bird arches its delicate head back and swallows the doughnut.

382. In the concourse, outside of the gallery, the guard visits her with his eyes. His gaze is an empty, roving, unrecognizing gaze. She smiles her life-smile, which disarms the guard.

383. What is one to say of a girl who could find so much in a smile?

384. You can see a seizure of fascination forming around the guard’s mouth and in his posture, a milky spasm, a coronary of desire, foaming up within him as he uncalmy observes her coltish calves.

385. She sighs. She is forever on the verge of a sigh.

386. You observe her calmly, narrowing your eyes at every index of movement.

387. It is as if there were halos of pigeons circling her. It is as if she were a contradiction, as if she we were there, in the art gallery and, at the same time, as if, disengaged, she were never there to begin with.

388. Casting an eye over the valley, the eagle sights the hulking beasts pushing ahead.

389. Yellowing lights yellow up the hallway.

390. She is beautiful because she is self-possessed, because she pretends, perfectly, to be unaffected by the gazes of men.

391. She is studying each one of the forty-one paintings that pass into her scrutiny.

392. You watch the lions, one after the other, pounce on the gigantic giraffe.

393. You watch the guard speaking unguardedly with another guard.

394. She plunges her teeth into the skin of the tangerine. Her mouth envelops a pocket of tangerine-flesh, enfolding it with her tongue.

395. He reaches for a branch, in an act of empty defiance. He pulls the branch, snapping it free.

396. She wafts out of the art gallery and toward the white café. She hurls the undigested nectarine into a garbage bin.

397. The café is adjacent to the art gallery.

398. You must make a decision: If you follow her too closely, she will know that you are following her. It would be better to advance her movements, to steal a march on her. You know that the girl will eventually end up in the white café that is adjacent to the art gallery. It would be best to saunter directly to the café.

399. A rude boy who lusts after the slimy tomatoes that grow in your garden. For this is your garden now. This is your Garden of Earthly Delights.

400. The wolverine are lashing and slashing the dresses with their big claws.

401. They gulp down the food, as if the food were you.

402. The food starves the animals.  They want more.

403. He applies thick gelatin to his hair and combs it into his scalp.

404. Headlights sear over your head.

405. Gliding bats slice open the night like razor blades.

406. He is donning tortoise-shell sunglasses.

407. You feel the weight of your body being absorbed by the window.

408. Their presences seem locked—his hand flattens against the window, spreading against the plane, growing amorphous.

409. Her hand slithers under the booth and creeps slowly upwards, the shroud of her fingers.

410. He turns his slackened, corpse-like body over and over in the grass, freshening his weathered senses with greenest summer.

411. You shiver in the gelid breeze.

412. You follow him through the thronging masses in the town square.

413. His eyeballs are too large for his head, bulging orbs shooting from his skull.

414. A miasma of stupidity.

415. His hands are waving like useless flags.

416. Their red faces shine like gore-stained beacons.

417. Her lips tremble like viscous butterflies.

418. A wave bursts against the shoreline, and a film of milk coats the pavement.

419. Combers strike the edge and splash upward, spraying the windows.

420. The crests of the waves are white with foam and tower above you.

421. The torrential blasts, the breakers, are ramming the shore.

422. See the mouthless smiles of the lampreys. They splash and jump into the air with merriment.

423. Their mouths expand and close rhythmically.

424. The fish flip waterlessly.

425. You dance about in the mayhem.

426. Humongous sperm whale flying straight up, its flippers flapping as it rises, the milk enveloping you.

427. Camels, gibbous donkeys—the camels seem so dimwitted.

428. The boy is a plasma-child.

429. How could these mysterious words have emanated from his grasshopper mind?

430. She looks like Nastassja Kinski in Tess of the D’Urbervilles (1979), the sweat and the dust forming a kind of vegeto-human pollen.

431. His words are transcriptions from his incomplete thought patterns.

432. She is cast as one of the impure nymphs who populate the burlesque shows in his mind.

433. Menacingly gorgeous and gorgeously menacing women are standing on the balcony.

434. She has gossamer velvetine skin and glisteningly moist strawberry lips.

435. Dashing into the clothing store like spermatozoa, here comes the crowd.

436. Then, in a misplaced game of manners, he drinks the milk from the ground.

437. Like an earthbound seagull, she falls.

438. The boy is the incarnation of that character in your dream.

439. His examinations are closing around him like a tightening fist.

440. She has spoken of everything.

441. In the night sky, spiraling and wheeling, the night birds are spinning.  The raptors are rapturous.

442. It is the ugliest, most revealing thing anyone has ever said to you in your life.

443. The raccoons are swiping the cellular telephones.

444. He slams down his fist and leaves the table.

445. The old man walks briskly down the stairs.

446. He hops down the stairs.

447. He whirls around as her steady hand touches his shoulder.

448. He is wearing goggles. The pesticide surrounds him as if it were a cumulus cloud.

449. His eyes burn with red irritation. He falls backward, holding his throat as he spills on to the uncut grass.

450. Her face is suffused with the luminescence, the coming of the purulent milk.

451. The animal has contractile claws.

452. Her face grows gravid.

453. See the cow’s blubbery milky milkers.

454. They are supping on the sap.

455. A whole herd of people liquefying, fluidifying, spreading, foaming, deliquescing before their televisual vision.

456. The alligator people race toward you now, coursing across the green. You scuttle to your feet. They, the alligator people, are already out of the forest and are now running across the lawn, running fast. Their teeth are showing.  They are howling, they are coming for you.

457. They laugh richly.

458. His mouth is like the prow of a ship.

459. She has prismatic eyes.

460. Her hair is iridescent cobwebbery.

461. You sail through the fisheries and flesheries of the night.

462. You tremor, the spasms stirring you.

463. The conduits that led to the sterile tanks had been smashed—but you cannot scent rancidifying milk.  The milky milk is still fresh and never putrefies.  You cup your hands and douse your face with the unguent.

464. A precious young woman is sleepwalking into the bleeding black.

465. Her slippered feet make unique patterns.

466. A raven hovers near your ear in a mad blizzard of clacking and fluttering, as if it raced inside and then hurriedly exited.

467. A lethargic boar is burrowing his snout, routing and rooting, into the dank bristles of the grass.

468. Contraceptive devices dangle from the skeletal tree branches.  Crushed wine bottles litter the flat open field.

469. Her hair is slithering like a mass of baby whales.

470. A shred of sunlight cream lights the horizon.

471. Barnacles are masticating on telephone poles.

472. You are as useless as a wingless bird.

473. See the rising quagmires.

474. Her pupils invade your own.

475. She says: “I live in the house down the street. My house is red, the same color as my hair.”

476. The people make garbled, mouthing warbling sounds.

477. The most desolate are those who are in a mass, not those who walk alone.

478. Barnacles and blackish-green vines are jutting through the bathroom wall.

479. They sail above the river like ghosts of misty clouds.

480. A sterile old man with gyrating hands is describing invisible arcs on his unfresh overcoat.

481. You are watching the lovers lambada in silence.

482. You study the topography, the geography of her body.

483. Her hair is yellow, not blonde.

484. The lops are loping.

485. The giants (the elephants) are sucking up the leaves.

486. You hear gasps of shock.

487. The leaves are flaking the unraked lawns, and the clouds are ghostily wispy.

488. An obscene profusion of plants is cascading from the boy’s mouth.

489. The fruit falls into liquid decay.

490. The swirling sirens form a glistening chandelier.

491. You notice the untesticled groin of the boy.

492. A man with an antelope head is chasing a young boy.

493. Clawing through the dirt, the husband and the wife are very dirty.

494. She is a breathtakingly nippled, milk-soaked princess.

495. He says: “Mick ran up to my bed and circled his tongue in my ear.”

496. The old man has very clean fingernails.

497. Globs and vulgar fingers are sloping into greening stalactites.

498. Dinning across the sky, the Air Force planes are coming.

499. She dunks into the pure mud.

500. A supernova of milk.

501. The endless discourse of tree and sky.

502. The sticky white larval substance adheres to your fingertips.  Some of the milk is as thin as homogenized, pasteurized milk; some of the milk is lumpier and thicker.

503. Big gawky bright-red birds loft in the branches.  Not cardinals—what are they?  Swamp deer are coursing through the shallows of the milk marsh.

504. In the aquarium, suspended, the sting rays, the groupers, the Moray eels, the wolf eels, the Brown Sea Nettles with their ungiform sex glands.

505. She absorbs admiration in the way in which the sperm whale absorbs octopuses.

506. Love is death.  Killing as animals do, that is love.  Human beings are animals that have deceived themselves into thinking that they are human.

507. His Italianate nostril-flaps widen.  He is breathing through his puckering nostrils.

508. Your mind unrolls its dream-like tentacles and sighs.

509. The windows are grimacing.

510. Your face is the universe.

511. All the voluptuousness of life is in your eyes.

512. The question surfaces like the snout of a seal through the waves of a briny sea.

513. The Venus Fly Traps are closing their mouths, their green lids closing around unseen victims, trapping their prey in their green drums.  Strangely sculpted green formations emerge from the ground, pitchers of rubbery green throbbing at the end of their stems.  Some have writhing trumpet-shaped flowers, red and white.  Rows of hair-like protuberances line their leaves.  Some of the giant green plants are secreting a viscous white liquid from their hairy leaves.  Their lids are slippery with white.

514. You struggle up the stairs to a grey door.

515. You lift the binoculars to your eyes and peer.

516. Entering the darkness, you grope your way through the shed.

517. You place the flashlight gently on the table.

518. You are empty of any desire to interfere with the beasts or the trees, with the burgeoning plant and animal life.

519. Big green leaves, as big as elephant ears, are flapping in the breeze.  The branches of the trees are softly wavering.  A shiver passes through you.  The trees are quavering greenly.

520. Clearing away the undergrowth along the bank of the pond, the human scavengers make for themselves an encampment.

521. Above you, bats are curled into their leathery wings, hanging upside down like stalactites, dropping pod-like from the branches.

522. Canadian geese are coming across the lawn awkwardly in a wobbly triangle.

523. The squirrel is chittering on the tree.

524. The city beyond is a paradise of flying birds and green-leafed trees.

525. You descend into the milk-wet ditch.

526. A flurry and a flapping are overhead.

527. They are having a picnic.  Their picnic is investigated by moose and camels.

528. Her fingers are unfreshened but pleasantly fragrant and thin.

529. Retracting into the shadows, he is watching you, his eyes glistening with madness.

530. The nightstreets are laden with foamy fog, enveloping the banked whirl of walkers.

531. Her eyelashes snap shut.

532. She has prismatic eyes.

533. Spotted Colorado Rangerbred horses are chewing on the leaves and chortling to themselves.

534. You are jolted by the energetic jerks of the free-moving horses as they jaunt across the plain.  They are like comets rocketing across the lunar green.

535. You can see the scissored outlines of horses against the pale sky, luxuriant horses that move with luxuriance and speed, with heads the shape of swans’ heads, oatmeal-colored horses, horses with well-sloped and luxuriant shoulders, gypsy horses, high-action horses driving forward.  Furiously galloping, beautifully black, a Kentucky Mountain Saddle Horse mounts the hill.

536. A rhinoceros lurks in the tall grass, its horn-prod pointing like a vicious cruise missile.

537. Herds of zebra and oryx send up clouds of dirt as they gallop over your body.

538. The gazelle, zebra, and gnu march into the glistening park, where the trees are growing in profusion and the grass is moistened with milk.

539. Milk-soggy camels lick the milky cream that flows from the fissures in the street.

540. The camels amble, followed by fat black snakes, dry-yet-moist crocodiles, hump-backed feathery eagles, and seething cats.  Path-paving rhinoceroses amble through the bamboo thicket, snorting manically.

541. Look!  The rhinoceros is charging the Prius as if it wanted to eat it.

542. Speeding along the road, the car collides with the rhinoceros.  The rhinoceros jets through the air, and the car tumbles over.

543. A baby rhinoceros is rubbing the cow rhinoceros’s flank with her horn.

544. A deluge of rhinoceroses bursts into the Italian restaurant.

545. The boar’s fur is coated with beachy sand.

546. Pork-pink hogs burst out of the elevator.

547. His snout poised for action, the boar studies you.

548. Striped like watermelons, snorting through their snouts, a sounder of galloping boars comes over the bridge.

549. With wriggly twist, the snake squeezes itself through the hole.

550. She says: “I want to learn French because French is a romance language, and I am very romantic.”

551. They, the alligator people, run so quickly that they might be hovering, levitating over the frozen grass.

552. The alligator people have already passed the lawn and are now in the forest.

553. They laugh richly.

554. You are quick-transforming into a stag.

555. Slowly slackening, your flesh folds around your knees. You are changing shape, antlers sprouting from the crown of your hairy head, your face elongating, flaxen hair spreading over your body, your feet splitting open, hooves protruding out of the breach, the hooves of some daemon-deer, your skeleton warping.

556. Lapping madly, the alligator people lope into the empty spaces of the forest.

557. No one accompanies him, except a retinue of happy fleas.

558. A rustle of leaves announces everything.

559. Her eyes stare into his eyes.

560. You are tracing shadows on the floor.

561. You run motionlessly toward the spume and foam of the awaiting sea as it cascades on to the shoreline.

562. You frown before bursting into a delirious giggle.

563. The raccoons probe their black-masked, diamond-shaped heads into the rubbish. Their dexterous hands finger the rubbish, their ringed tails swinging rhythmically.

564. Hedgehogs, woodchucks, and voles run mirthfully over your prostrate body.

565. Their mobile telephones erupt into a symphony of cheeping, chirping, and weeping.

566. The badger luxuriates in the sun.

567. The badgers are excavating their burrows, digging and digging with their hindpaws.  All of the badgers are moving in exactly the same way.  They turn around at exactly the same time and look at you in exactly the same way, with exactly the same inquisitive faces.

568. The shrews probe the meat with their long, pointy, protuberant pink snouts, micro-anteaters.

569. Blind moles are blindly preying on recumbent grasshoppers.  The moles are golden balls of fur with searching noses that feed without seeing their prey, the twitching grasshoppers.

570. You see a throb of rabbit and a throbbing herd of gerbils.  The rabbit squirm and squeal on the counter.  Their warren is a steel cupboard in the kitchen.

571. Skunk-like polecats dance playfully in the street.

572. Streaking across the street, a pack of ermines is racing fast from bush to bush.

573. The crocodiles are spying the gnawing nibbling rabbit and the ballerina-like storks.

574. The rabbit teeth chisel through the door, splintering the wood.

575. The squirrel looks at you with its puffy, funny face—spluttering and sputtering.

576. A mink lies beside a quiet seagull.  The seagull is nesting.  The mink nestles softly against the gull’s plumage.

577. The pizzeria has become a rabbit warren and a goat sanctuary.

578. She scrambles toward the Home Depot.

579. Slapping their tails, hissing and grunting, the beavers are cavitating, hollowing out a maze of tunnels beneath the linoleum flooring.

580. You open the window and extrude your head.  You take in a deep breath.

581. The zorilla raises its skunk-like tail in alarm.

582. A blue trailer lulls in the distance.

583. Their ferrets have long since been set free, and now it is the distrustful humans who are fretting in the shadows.  Scurrying Frettchen.  (Frettchen is German for “ferrets.”)

584. Thunderous howls, yells, and bellows fill your ears.

585. Gnawing passionately on an iPad, the bear ignores you.

586. The black bear looks askance at you.

587. Wolverines are licking the inside of the sedan.

588. Seizing the pizza disc in its mouth, the wolverine thrashes its head back and forth frenetically.  Wolverine—gluttonous skunk-bear.

589. Frogs expand and contract at the approach of the shadow-licking coyotes.

590. He flops down on his back and yowls and howls.

591. The crowd is performing a pantomime of human confusion.

592. She raises her head as if sniffing the air, as if lured inexorably by some irresistible scent.

593. The coyote scents your human arrival.

594. The flappy ears of the African wild dog turn like radar antennae.

595. You see a grey wolf.  Its tufty fur shivers in the wind.

596. The African wild dog crouches, couchant, and curls up.

597. Looking sullen, the dog suddenly opens her jaws and shows her sharp long teeth.

598. Lithe, the coyote, its thickly furred tail wagging behind it, with long purple tongue dangling, pads toward the man in the red jacket.

599. Timber wolves crowd around their prey, lowering their heads and gnawing, feeding on the carcass of their fallen quarry.  What is it?  Strips of red flesh.  Pulling them and tearing at them, their white jaws reddening.  You hasten past the spectacle, ensconcing yourself behind a tall oak.  Howling wolves howl.

600. The yellow head and the red breast of the bobbing and jerking Chinese pheasant, so regal and so ridiculous, fascinates you.

601. Long-muzzled and bat-eared, the coyote covers the distance with its sentinel gaze, policing the prairie.  The coyote shakes its grizzly hide and laughs soundlessly.

602. The jackal opens its jaws, exposing its stiletto teeth.  It is a striped jackal, with razor-like carnassials, concave ears, and a long, thick, bushy tail.  The jackal jerks its head and sharpens its feline eyes.  It hears something rustling in the underbrush.

603. The jackal is jogging toward you.  You open the heavy iron door of the building and step inside.

604. Licking the air, the hyenas encircle the elephant.

605. The wind is lashing the trees.

606. Rangy and orangeish, a fox is hunting for the squirmy squirrels and grass rats that pulse and feed in the grassy enclosure.

607. As the yelping pack of coyotes fades into darkness, you fasten your gaze on the tremulous humanity that has gathered before you.

608. Raising your head slowly, you peer at the beast.

609. You hear a slow turning of wheels and a plashing through milk.  You hear a car.

610. Gulping the water as if it were God’s food, the man is pressing his head against the tree.

611. You stop, glancing at the unopened door to your right.  A humming is coming from behind the door.

612. Following the herd of humans, you retreat to the depths of the forest, where all that can be heard are the crocitations of crows and the blaterations of baby birds.

613. The plants that had been hacked away have recolonized the empty area.

614. Screechy fisher cats—two of them—lunge at the squirmy rabbit.

615. They laugh as the telephone sinks into the dark, dank deeps.

616. You pad down the path toward the rupturing tributary of milk.

617. The nurseries and the gardens are multiplying infinitely.

618. You plod along the path, looking at the sky’s obscurity.

619. Eager to get an unobstructed view, you ascend the ladder.

620. Sauntering along the hill, you look out across the valley, gazing at the place where the roads collide.

621. On the other side of the pond is a hyena that laughs in laughing barks.

622. You become aware of two humans in the milky mist.

623. The milky milkiness invades every window and trails beneath every door.

624. You follow the girl into the forest.

625. His mind has unsheathed itself.

626. You dance along the crisp knife of the shoreline.

627. Cupping his heat-worn hands with milk, he ablutes his mummified face. The milk cascades down his neck.

628. A legion of mermaids and mermen is pleading with you to join the marinal civilization.

629. You see a crow-like woman swaddled in silken whiteness.

630. The comedian calls the woman in the audience a “slug-sucking wench.”

631. A platoon of troopers combs the forest in search of derelict humans and habitable dwellings.

632. Crouching, its stomach pressed against the earth, the tiger readies itself to spring.

633. Gazing upward, you see what appears to be a platoon of humans staring at you from the parapet of the tower.

634. The perimeter is ringed with survivalist humans, each armed with a rifle.  Their faces are hidden by black balaclavas as they eat their baklava.

635. The humans penetrate the jungle more deeply, sweeping aside the grasses with their homemade scimitars.

636. Rampaging over the hill is a rhinoceros, snorting through its abyssal nostrils.

637. The lawn is pulsating with sunshine and frogs—scintillae of sunshine and leaping frogs agglomerate into a frog-and-sunlight soufflé.

638. Climbing out of the ditch, your clothes are moist with creamy fluid.

639. She smiles slowly.

640. A donkey is trotting down the street, accompanied by a shamanic nomad.

641. A neighing Appaloosa, a horse with white mottles on its sleek chestnut coat, is braying and neighing.

642. Strawberry roan-stained horses with inexpressive nothing eyes are looking into you. Or do their eyes speak a language that you cannot comprehend?

643. You caress the beast’s thick crust-like hide.

644. You see the mellow mirage of a woman in a canary dress.

645. Galloping, graceful impala emerge.

646. She shifts from a leisurely gait to an open run, without pausing.

647. You stand up, your right hand pressed against the wall, steadying your ascent.

648. Stout donkeys with gigantic ears and huge black eyes ringed in white, no longer used for pack and draft, run free, escapees from human dominion.

649. The donkey is licking the neck of the man who was once its master, rubbing its long purple tongue across the human neck-skin.

650. Chewing horses with brown velvet eyes are chewing the sausages.

651. The moose bows its many-lobed antlers. It purses its lips as if readying its lips for song.

652. Crouching in the undergrowth is a pasty-faced lawyer wearing a pink tie.

653. The llamas are hoofing through the store, their hooves clattering.

654. You watch the bright zebra as they bolt over the open field.

655. The horses lower their heads and pull out the grass that pierces the tar with their long, sturdy teeth.

656. Tiny-headed, long-torsoed thoroughbreds, gracefully withered.  Emaciated horses with no one to feed them, wandering through a human necropolis.

657. Between the streetlights is a massive rhinoceros that grunts and bellows.

658. You touch the tapering muzzle of the Westphalian horse.

659. At the side of the road, a zebra lowers its striped neck and eats grass that is springing from the tar in lush tufts.

660. Beneath the rising mist, the guanacos are grazing.  Their coats are luminous.

661. The camels amble at a halting pace, milk-drenched and indifferent to the human tribes.

662. Fleeing thick-haunched antelope and hardy zebra with richly odiferous skin flee from the rampaging lioness.

663. The odor of horse tickles your nostrils.

664. There is an empty beer bottle left in the grass by a frightened attorney.

665. They are the gardeners of this vast grove, of this massive living herbarium.

666. An emo with dyed-black hair steps into the road.

667. The El train is clattering above your head.

668. A crazy-eyed middle-aged man wearing a pink button-down silk shirt is standing there, looking at you.

669. Into the glittering multicolored swarm of human beings you walk, human beings who are amassed before the sprouting plants, staring in bafflement before the plants as they grow upward.

670. A troop of tigers is marauding stealthily through the grassy highlands.  They stretch themselves out on the grass, spreading their bodies flat.  They look at you and wait.

671. He gazes at you dazedly, his forehead glazed with sweat.

672. She nods rapidly and flits her eyes left and right in a paranoiac daze. You gaze at the rapidly approaching caravan.

673. The aroma of cooked pork delights your nostrils, and there it is, in the clearing: a caravan of humans cooking pork.

674. The tiger darts into the spongy green mass.

675. Staring at the leopard from a distance of one hundred feet, you silently retreat down the narrow pathway.

676. Holstering his gun, the man looks you up and down.

677. Coquinating humans are there, cooking their toothy meat.

678. He drives you down a paved road and into a courtyard encircled by a low wall.

679. You spy on a troop of vagabonds.

680. A fountain of milk geysers into the air, leaping milk-jack.

681. You decide the follow the woman as she disappears into the forest.

682. A safari of humans is visible, a safari of humans looking for shelter from the spreading waves of animality.

683. Coldly staring ostriches are overlooking the encampments of the humans.

684. This is a ceremony in which sacrifice is made to a spur-of-the-moment god.

685. What will happen when the goats arrive, when they devour the greenery, when every stubble of grass has been chewed up, absorbed, and expelled into wads and tubes of goat dung?

686. The beast hisses and crawls closer.

687. He tenses his body.

688. Flicking his tail, the tiger studies you.

689. She is wearing slippers with a checkered patchwork of doe-eyed mice and zinnias.

690. Rain-wettened limousines silently slither down circuitous paths.

691. Harvest-moon red lipstick lines her thick lips.

692. The lamprey towers above the water, its gaping sucker-head high out of the heaving and swaying waves, its maw inflamed, its grill slits raging madly.

693. He holds the glass of beer in his hand as if it were a urinalysis sample.

694. The child lilts through the store, lifting the fronds of her eyelashes, showing you her glittering eyes.

695. With bulging eyes and lolling tongue, the zebra zigzags into the department store.

696. Clenching the clothing rack, gripping it with its flaccid trunk, the elephant calf brings it down.

697. The scent of the elevator tickles your nostrils. It smells like a new plastic toy.

698. The elevator door uncloses. The elevator is bustling with jutting-necked emus.

699. Pecking at them, tearing at them, ripping them open, the birds attack the trousers, the suits, and the blazers.

700. Transferring her vigorous energy through electric space, the lioness rockets into the concourse and down the escalator.

701. The slender antelope legs trot steadily toward the mezzanine.

702. An explosive rush to Neiman Marcus: not a rush of shoppers, but a rush of antelope and zebra, flying through the entrance.

703. A pack of hyenas roams the shopping-mall jungle, stopping at the fountain on the first level, where the duckbill platypuses splash in the green water. They are slurping, their gigantic pink tongues extended.

704. A torrent of zebra floods the department store.

705. The owls are hooting their booming hoots, rasping and snoring, calling to one another. See the Ferruginous Pygmy Owl, propped on a cash register. Its plumage is tufty brown and creamy caramel. See its yellow discs, feline oglers, yellow irises with black pupils, the yellow-and-black eyes that spy you.

706. The shopping mall is well-illuminated, but there are folds of darkness. Ensconced in each fold of darkness is a nest of animals.

707. You see a solitary coyote stretching out its body, sheltered by the tall grass that is sprouting through the tiling, creeping up to a sinuous viper, its jaws ready to spring open. Sensing the coyote’s heat, the viper slithers out of sight, spooling into the grille of leaves and branches.

708. The gleaming hide of the propulsive boar shines in the fluorescent lighting.

709. The male lion paws the mirror greedily with his greedy paws.

710. Squeezing into the kitchen is a goat, its hooves clapping.

711. The old man knots his robe as he stork-walks down the corridor.

712. You reel through the corridors, looking for the woman, for the figure of the woman who vanished into the building.

713. She reclines on the couch, fanning herself with a newspaper, a relic from a forgotten age.

714. The capybara scratches against the toilet, stretching its body against the cold white linoleum.

715. Phantasmal boars are thudding into the department store.

716. Your gaze shuttles between the cougar and the maiden.

717. You can hear the moles tunneling beneath the floorboards.

718. The manager enters the room, holding a bullwhip.

719. Walking into the courtyard, you see two unyoked oxen.

720. The entire shopping center is leafy and leafily Arcadian.

721. The hare is cringing.  You lunge—the hare escapes you, streaming across the shopping mall concourse in a white streak.  So swiftly does it run that it could only be the arctic hare.

722. Dazzlingly colored parrots are lifting themselves from their branches.  A pink cockatoo is roosting on a plasma-screen television monitor.

723. Beautifully green vipers are coiling around the mannequins and clothing racks.

724. Another human-eater is dragging the mattress with its jaws, dragging the fat mattress into its hovel.

725. Circumnavigating the shopping mall, a troop of baboons is arm-swinging, treading the same path that mallrats once tread.

726. You yank open the door.

727. Trundling through the Children’s Department is a gargantuan elephant. The elephant manipulates the toys, using its prehensile trunk as if it were a hand.

728. Giraffes speed across the showroom.

729. Whishing through the concourse, waving its bushy tail, its black cloven hooves clattering, the horned wildebeest storms the home-appliances department. Vines trail over the rhombus-patterned ceramic flooring.

730. The rhinoceroses are snorting and shoving one another lewdly with their rude noses. They collide with a table; the trinkets tinkle to the floor.

731. The gazelle, the antelope, and waterbuck are slowly padding through the forest that has grown and the gardens that have blossomed in the department store.

732. The white wooly coat of the mountain goat shivers in the air conditioning. The mountain goat is an unmoving animal. It might as well be a taxidermic puppet. It does nothing. It simply stands there, with its sharp grey hooves and its sharp black horns. Its mouth is open, and its teeth look like human teeth.

733. Trudging over the puddled ground, soppy and soapy with milk, you see that the green landscape has grown sparklingly radiant with milky dew reflecting the declining sunrays, a grassy milkscape numinous with lush verdant foliage and pearly milk droplets.  Ocelots roam through the tangles of grass, stopping occasionally to drink from the bubbling puddles of milky pudding.

734. On a raft with his beloved, a suntanned chet steers through the thick cheesy milk sauce.

735. The pungent musk of decomposing badgers fills your nostrils.

736. A saurian lunges at you as the raft passes.

737. Your shoes are reddened by dapples of tomato sauce.

738. Tendrils of tree envelop you where you walk.

739. You see the boars jogging on all fours alongside the lake.

740. Wild pigs are racing around the lush banana trees.

741. You walk past the fauna-filled liquor store, with storks strutting and frogs jumping.

742. On a tree limb are hopping, laughing blackbirds.

743. You hear the raucous crowing of a rooster.  Do roosters crow at the darkening of the day?  The pigs are squealingly singing.

744. You amble into the restaurant, which is now a playground for boars and deer.

745. The chickens and the pigs immerse themselves in the wet earth.

746. A rogue giraffe escapes, breaking away from the herd, and wanders into the lek where the red deer are rutting and mounting one another.

747. The rejected suburbanites are moving about like amateur mountaineers in search of a nonexistent mountain.

748. A stately kudu stands and looks at you judgingly.

749. Her carmine lips close on a pomegranate.

750. Green parakeets light on the long V-shaped horns of a gemsbok.

751. Butterflies dance around the swirling, spiraling horns of the male greater kudu.

752. Two zebra duikers are licking each other.

753. Tawny red, with long coltish legs and splayed hooves, a herd of deer rushes before you in a single red line.

754. Cantering deer leap over the car-perimeter.

755. The okapi extrude their long grey tongues and tongue the ice cream.

756. The forlorn hipster is wearing a grey “Beardo.”  The lost hipster wanders through a world that he cannot transcend.

757. In the lobby, sitting on foamy cushions, there is a family of four.

758. Triangular tongues emit from their pointing mouths.

759. Slumped in his chair, he opens a novel and pretends to read.

760. Gazelles and flamingos spiral around one another in coiling patterns, forming a double helix.

761. You haze past a vagabond who is brandishing a whip. Yodeling and whooping, the vagabond swishes his whip, herding and corralling sheep into a makeshift pen.

762. The gerbils glom themselves on the wall.

763. The reedbucks, the rheboks, the hartebeests, the topis, the bonteboks, and the wildebeests are parading down the street in a motley mob. They sway their horns; their dark coats are glistening in the moonlight. They bleat and bay.

764. The moose shoves its muzzle into the popcorn machine.

765. You stroke the goat’s coat.

766. You hear the bleating of the sheep.

767. Jumping down the street in a fox-trot, the elderly couple sings “If You Could Read My Mind” by Gordon Lightfoot.

768. Flocculent sheep, you cannot believe your eyes, frizzy white sheep lowering their heads softly and chewing on the dandelions that grow around the firs.

769. You touch the rippling leathery skin of the topi. Its nothing-eyes look at you or at nothing nothingly.

770. The pointed muzzle of the wildebeest probes the gumball machine.

771. Exuberant dancing gazelle and gemsboks are dancing.

772. Doves are lilting down to her brown feet.

773. The deer are hopping and leaping on the grass, clashing their antlers, singing silent songs.

774. The moose rub their velvety antlers against the tree trunk.

775. It is dusk, and the long-tusked deer are lapping milk at the estuary of the milk bog.

776. Massively antlered moose stampede into the distance.

777. A tangle of horns, the reindeer clash and buck.

778. You see the coming of the milk swamp deer.

779. Hogweed lines the milk lake.

780. A rum-hued deer raises its head and roars, displaying the inside of its corrugated mouth.

781. You see a bristly musk deer, bristling. The musk deer springs forth and briskly climbs up the stopped escalator.

782. She looks at you inquisitively, as if fatty brown tentacles were shooting out of your ear canals.

783. There: a yak, a yak with a long, thick, shaggy coat of shiny whitish black hair.  Its white horns are majestic.  It arches its back and snorts, lowers its white horns and plunges its white horns into the earth, foraging for food.  Its eyes see nothing.

784. A herd of ibex sweep across the storeroom.  Two ibex clash, their deep-ridged horns locking together.  They stamp their cloven hooves.

785. The hartebeest—hardy antelope with absurdly taut and narrow faces and lyre-shaped horns.

786. Gazelle nuzzle the faces of human babies with their muzzles.

787. A tawny deer races into the dressing room.

788. The gazelle raise their delicate heads and extend and purse their lips and vacuum up the unshriveled green leaves that are covering the McDonald’s.

789. You walk across the lawn, the grass whipping your legs.

790. Unharnessed buffaloes are treading the grass freely.  You admire their stately movement.

791. Mottled roan cattle roam across the field.

792. A calf suckles her mother’s udder.

793. Sucking and pulling, a calf is draining milk in short draughts from the teat of its mother, a hornless brown Sussex cow that is mellowly mooing, lowing in low moos.

794. A young girl coos with wonderment as she strokes the ivory fur of a sacred white buffalo.

795. You see her kneeling in adoration before the water buffalo.

796. The cattle move steadily forward, nimbused by the mist.

797. The cows kiss one another, extending their long purple tongues.

798. They slip into the waiting oceanic malt.

799. The cows sway their mammalian udders and turn their eye-domes toward you.

800. The musk ox—richly furred and odiferous—is staring at you. He has ridiculously bobbing eyes and a mouth that seems to be smiling.

801. Bison are combing the prairie, a prairie that is striped with long tree shadows.

802. She tousles her burgeoning water-buffalo-horn mustache, as if grooming and shaving were no longer necessary (and surely they aren’t).

803. Raising its head, the cow softly mutters a rumbling mutter and then bellows a long foghorn-like bawl.

804. As you approach, the herd of buffalo shifts to the left.

805. Scanning the buffalo, you inch toward the vaulted archway.

806. Buffalo stand in the breaking sun.

807. Sticking its snout into the hole, the anteater wriggles its silky body forward.  Its snout is a wormy sucking tube.

808. The crows zip between the pillar-like legs of the elephant and dart to the height of the ceiling.

809. You stare back at the big beast.

810. Her eyes are hid in dream lashes.

811. He rubs his hands as he speaks as if he were rubbing off an adhesive.

812. Glancing furtively at the albino kangaroos as they hop along, the men are having a conversation that only they can hear.

813. Young pink opossum babies fasten on to the teat of a mother Virginia opossum. Other, more sedate opossums dangle from the telephone wires, silently in space.

814. Listen to the trumpeting of the swans.  They, the swans, are grazing over what was once a British Petroleum gas station—it is now a pasture.  What was once a gas station is now entangled in tendrils of weeds.  The cars are enmeshed in the ever-growing garden of weeds.  Monstrous weeds, ten feet tall.

815. Milk is bubbling up from the subterranean world.  A white taxicab trundles down the street, splashing through the splattering milk waves.  The taxi driver looks back at you, his eyes brimming with humiliation.

816. Low-flying crows skim the vine-encrusted streets.  The glossy wings of the crows jackknife.  Their flight is powerful and indifferent.

817. Another bird—it resembles a turkey somewhat, but has iridescent-silvery plumage—is roosting in a fluffily leafed tree, burbling and bubbling inanely.

818. Snowy egrets calmly stroll past you, ignoring you, succeeded by a flock of stately flamingos.  Black-necked stilts are bearing up and swallowing down wriggly worms, worms that slither through the grasses.  A Blyth’s hornbill has secreted himself in the hollow of the tree.  Masked lapwings wade in the mud.  White butterflies flit and flounce about.

819. The chickens quiver in the nail salons, in the pharmacies, in the bicycle shops, in the restaurants, in the barber shops.

820. You look at the alligators in the lagoon.  The alligators are sloughing through the slough, slogging through the slog.  And there are shrubberies now where there were no shrubberies yesterday.  You see a parade of turkeys waddling through the shrubberies.  The turkeys hold their heads high, moving in a gentle but clumsy gait, rocking gently backward and forward.

821. Look at the sun-illumined street, the clouds leaving chiaroscuro patterns on the tar.  The sun is glistening in the milk puddles.

822. Keeping your eyes fixed on the lonely man, you walk southward.

823. Horribly emaciated human beings are sleeping in the afternoon sun.

824. Pirouetting downward, they alight on the army of beer bottles and wine coolers.

825. Grinning vacantly, glaring elsewhere, the black-bearded man is clearly losing his mind.

826. His face distorted in a spasm of agony, the man unloops the lasso that loops around his neck.

827. A beleaguered populace, a mob of masks, faces you.

828. Gasping audibly, the unwary man stumbles backwards.

829. She flits from passenger to passenger.

830. Staggering from the jolt he received, he drops his weapon with a slap and bolts for the alley.

831. Tremor of fear shoots through you.

832. She moves breezily through the room, the smiling girl.

833. Herons are strutting around like Ecstasy-popping scenesters.

834. With upstretched necks, the swans strut into the Kentucky Fried Chicken.

835. At first, the residents of Chicago were joyful; now, they have grown irritated.

836. Wiggling and wriggling and worming and squirming, the mongooses have the pizza all to themselves.  They have their way with the pizza slices.

837. A man is led by his dog.

838. You are less affected by the misery of humans than you are by the nobility of the beasts.

839. Like a parade float, a raft of foxes, wolves, cheetahs, orangutans, llamas, and giraffe makes its way down the street.  Human beings drift along the sidewalks, watching the bestial parade go by.

840. Heaped with stores of food fifteen-feet tall—cans of pears and beans, bags of rice, stacks of pasta and tomato puree—the space is well-stocked.

841. Coasting along the milk-wet street, a carful of girls streams past.

842. The milk-puddled road parts.

843. You are passed by a man in his mid-twenties.  His face is mask of panic.  His shirt has been diloricated by a maundering leopard.

844. A milk-hole is pullulating milk in the middle of the dining area.

845. Typing on his laptop as if he were playing a piano, the hipster is not alone in the theater of his mind.  He is outside of himself.  He pretends to be self-contained, but there his mind is—out on the street, among the parking meters, the billboards, and the milky slime that gurgles up from the sewers.

846. Irruptive emerging of geysers of milk, spraying an umbrella of milk into the air, a leaping fountain.

847. Deer fawns, the color of rum, are browsing through the cherry blossoms that blossom in the shower.

848. You break through the entwined net of vines.

849. You see a dance of gazelle.  Bouncing up and down, stotting gazelle are leaping over the heads of the mountain lions.  Then they, the gazelle, sedately trot away.  The mountain lions are yawning and stretching themselves on the freshly grown grass, the grass that covers the street.

850. You emerge from the forest.

851. Animality is replacing humanity, and there is nothing that you could do about it. Human beings are now subaltern animals, no more important than mosquitoes.

852. A girl, completely bald, is stooping over a puddle of milk.  She scoops up a palmful of milk.  She rubs the milk into her face-skin.

853. Bulb-nosed gharials lurk in the grasses that surround the lacteous lagoon, waiting to spring on the springing chickens.

854. There are crocodiles everywhere, basking in the sun and bathing in the milk.  They sway down the milky street, slowly waving their tails at you.

855. Basking in the punishing sun is a retinue of crocodiles.  Lifting the tips of their noses above the milk skin, their mouths gape.

856. You walk past the hotel.  Vines drape the hotel.  Translucent grapes hang from the vines like so many pearl earrings.

857. The zorilla raises its skunk-like tail in alarm.

858. The badger luxuriates in the sun.

859. Thunderous howls, yells, and bellows fill your ears.

860. The cinereous vulture zombies back and forth like a shambling homeless man maundering about.  Blue flesh surrounds its sharp, hooked, iron-like bill.  The vulture shuffles forward, ruffling its dirty brown feathers.

861. You trot on until you reach the main road.  You reinitiate your journey.

862. The vaporous gloom of the late afternoon shrouds the landscape.

863. Breath flooding out of your body, you look to the right.  The big ebony eyes of a pygmy owl entrance you.

864. You feel the brisk, bracing air.

865. On the sidewalk: The tarsiers are feasting on grilled and marinated flank steak and prosciutto.

866. The woman is ruminating over the fallen groceries.

867. Holding a Styrofoam cup, he looks at you unmenacingly.

868. The traffic is interrupted and then accelerates again.

869. You lie there, struggling to escape the questions that surface in your mind.

870. The sky grows an energetic plum, bloody firmament.

871. So many erumpent gophers, pressing into the daylight.

872. If you skinned the hybrid offspring of a mole and a rat, it would indeed appear identical to the naked mole rat.

873. A prairie dog, achingly arching its back, is slowly unslouching.  The prairie dog lifts its head as if readying its solemn mouth to speak, its V-shaped snout high in the air.

874. Under your prying eyes, all of this looks mysteriously beautiful.

875. An untrammeled mob drifts into sight, a farrago of cars, trucks, trailers, and Sports Utility Vehicles.

876. Survivalists stand at the threshold of the jungle, light filtering through the branches in curtains.

877. So many thoughts are swimming around in the aquarium of your mind.

878. You see through the window that the milk has seeped into the gym—the milk is waist-high, the uncoagulating, unrancidifying milk, the emulsifying plasmatic milk.

879. You stop asking yourself questions and observe what you observe.

880. Her fingers wriggle and wiggle in her lap like octopod tentacles.

881. As she speaks, you stare at the worminess of her eyebrow hairs.

882. She cannot sustain your stare.

883. Laughter cascades from her mouth in frothy streams.

884. The city looks like a deconsecrated cemetery.

885. All of the flowers are opening up inside of you.  All of the animals are gestating inside of you.

886. The goats are marching from the mattress store.

887. Ruffled turkeys are clinging to the window sill.

888. Her hair is a mobile garden of diseased vegetables.

889. You collapse into the white pool of putrilaginous slime.

890. You rap on the door and toggle its knob.

891. Look at the cheesiness and the chalkiness of the milk.

892. All bursting wings and feathers, seagulls arc in the celestial sphere.

893. The air is redolent of an aquarium.

894. You smile as if you were throwing a birthday party for yourself inside of your mind.

895. Your flesh, deliquescent, is turning into fluid the texture and color of malted milk.

896. He walks behind her, ensorcelled by her ensellure.

897. The survivalist is a cult leader and a follower in one.

898. Yeasty flows of milk flow in riverine rivulets.

899. The elephants roam north, looking for water.  Or for milk?

900. Any human who remains in the city will be messily mauled.  This thought has not escaped you.

901. Some kind of spectral energy passes from her body to yours.

902. You trot in reverse down the street.

903. A mountain lion gazes at a flock of flamingos with a not unravenous lust.

904. Hissing at the lion, the hyena steps backward indignantly.

905. Prong-clawed cheetahs are on the move, slithering silently through space.

906. Look: A caracal is closing its jaws around a watermelon.

907. The lynx slowly stalks the pigeon, stretching its long legs forward.

908. Cougars saunter past the powerless humans with indifference.

909. Cats are stretching themselves out on the conveyer belts, tawny and brownish-orange felines, meowing and mewing.

910. Triangle-jawed, pallid-skinned, with slicked-back tentacular black hair, the emo stands there frozen.

911. Ears flattened against her skull, the panther skulks.

912. The humans creep as if they were cats stalking through the grass.

913. The ocelots are defecating on the LaserWriter printers and the iPads.

914. The lion cub squeaks.

915. Recumbent tigers are feasting on the cuts of marbled meat, teething the flesh of some fallen beast, peering at you from the bend in the road.  Tigers with stiletto incisors.

916. The lion releases a short grunt and carries on its work.

917. The lion seizes the door with its jaws, battering the car with its mass.  Now it loses interest and ambles away indifferently toward the Walgreens.

918. Now, you approach a jewelry store.  In the jewelry store, the tigers stalk.  Their saber-like canine teeth puncturing and perforating, the tigers scratch open and bite open the glass cases.

919. The elephant noses open the door with its tusks, and a white tiger leaps inside, followed by a train of hopping kangaroos.

920. Pacing languidly back and forth, the leopards are watching you.  They are watching you charily.

921. Dashing over the street is a pack of cougars.

922. The taxi is entangled in the rude plants.

923. A fence made of dried yellowish bamboo serves as a flimsy barrier against the animal invaders.

924. The tiger outshoots the elephant herd, running as if levitating above the ground.

925. You glance back at the roaring beast.

926. You glimpse a seething, angry cat.

927. She is no lilting flower, but rather a tigress with exorbitant eyes, eye-orbs that are red with blood.

928. Cringing in their automobile, a family of five peers at the growing spectacle of animality with hushed anguish.

929. You are puzzled by the incomprehensible behavior of the humans.

930. Poaching or hunting game is unthinkable when the human becomes the hunted.

931. Gawking at the Bengal tiger, the mob snaps its camera telephones.

932. With its orange coat and white underside, with its stripes like black lesions and black scars, the Bengal tiger slinks slyly away.

933. The tigers creep up to the reclining woman and lick her face.

934. The white tigress is of a surpassing beauty—she is surpassingly beautiful, agonizingly beautiful, indeed.  The human beings wish they could be as surpassingly beautiful as the white tigress.  She parades herself, projecting her beauty before the gaping human crowd.

935. All over the tables are Tasmanian devils—sprawling, vicious cats with vicious bites.

936. The cats are nipping the cupcakes.

937. Arching its feet as it walks, walking on its toes, the leopard is stalking the heron.

938. Panthers are there, panthers in gaze that will pounce upon the humans, spring upon them.

939. Crouchant mountain lions are staring at the croups of the horses as they pass.  Bulbous croups, wagging croups.

940. You see a luscious lion, a lion with a luscious sleek coat of fur.

941. The handsome cougar—the handsome, fear-producing cougar—maneuvers through the aisles.  The cougars, pumas, and mountain lions are the new residents of the city—the alligators, the lizards, the Komodo dragons.  It is the human beings who are the invaders.

942. The tiger throws the man forty feet into the air.

943. Bearing its body forty feet into the trees, the tiger is chasing an antelope.

944. Treed pumas are gazing at you.

945. Gripping your coat, you stride toward the exit.

946. The leopard steals through the foliage, black-ringed and black-spotted.  It is hunting its quarry.  It springs on to its prey, taking it down.

947. She climbs down the tree—then jumps, landing on her feet.

948. A serval jumps in front of you.

949. On his knees, genuflecting before the tiger, his head scrapes the ground.

950. The tiger vanishes into the green screen.

951. A lion, with its plush mane, threads through the forest leafage.  Caught in the catch of its jaws, the toucan squirms, screeches, and shrieks.

952. A tiger is climbing the back stairs of a bar and nuzzling its face against the screen door.

953. A genet bolts from its hiding place.  The round-spotted genet is ghost-like, flitting by as if it were a windy flame.

954. A skimpy, scrawny cat lurks in the threshold of an alley.

955. You see her drifting through the art gallery, wearing a midnight business suit with a grey skirt, an ornamental silver brooch clutching her neck.  Her blouse is creamily yellow.

956. The young girl seems bored by her mother’s chattering.  She is looking at you meaningfully.

957. He knows that he is now far from the world of blenders and smoothie powder, far from the world of foaming juices and milky cream, far from the world of prerecorded oceanic pop and tautly wired smiles, far from the surveillance cameras and oceanic Day-Glo scapes, far from the harsh fluorescent lights with their interrogating glares.

958. Beneath the milk-fall, a sudden gush of milk overcoming them, their flesh-loaves shiver and then settle back into place.

959. As they journey between the jade-leaved peach trees, boozy moose and heraldic elephants follow them.

960. Perching on the window ledge is a turkey buzzard with a gristly pink gizzard head.

961. You see the brightening face of the young man as he unknots his tie.

962. She wears a stiff-colored white silk shirt with white cuffs, very lawyerly.

963. She is dumpy, but walks with the elegant precision of a skater.

964. Infant girl in pink sweater.

965. Carpeted by needle-like grasses, the boutique is blossoming into a geranium.

966. Cruciform trees.

967. Thorny branches are rising to the sky.  Apples are blooming on the branches.

968. The ladder is canted against the wall.

969. The city is lush with emerald blooms.

970. Junked cars dawdle beneath the junked bridge.  A junky trips, walks haltingly into the gloom beneath the bridge.  Sad, sleepy bats loll from the bridge’s underside.

971. A refrigerator has become a bosky sea-cave.

972. The interlaced, pleached vines.  Embosomed in the greenery.  Uliginous milk-plants.

973. She is looking at the flowering flowers.  You are at the intersection of Clark Street and Chestnut Street.  There is a small forest in the middle of the intersection—a forest of four tall, slender, many-leafed trees.  You walk into the small forest, the little grove of tall, slender, many-leafed trees.  Cremasters are hooked on leaf-stems, tensing cremasters.  Crenate leaves, look at the leaves.  Wiggling leaves, wiggling in the wind.

974. Growing lachrymose, the woman moans out a threnody of complaints.

975. She is bald.

976. In the sepulchral darkness, ostrichy ostrich.

977. Thick vine-twists bar your way.  Everywhere you look, flowers and vines are sprouting miraculously.  Rocketed by the up-shooting trees, the city is becoming a violent garden.

978. Vermiculated vines overwhelm travelers through the vine-garlanded garden.

979. They shuffle toward the green mass.

980. Brushy-maned ponies, elegant Cleveland Bay horses, Clydesdales with wispily feathered legs, and silkily skinned Oldenburg horses are being mounted by the human riders.

981. The trees shake their heads wildly like drugged-up disco dancers.  A wind tears through the tremulous deep dark grass.  Rain is coming.  A tempest is coming.  Wild tempestuous winds are winding wildly.  Brushy-maned ponies, elegant Cleveland Bay horses, Clydesdales with wispily feathered legs, and silkily skinned Oldenburg horses are being mounted by the human riders.

982. They seem bold—arrogant, even.  Scything through the flaccid vines, you approach the clearing.  Viscid leaves, leaves covered with a sticky white fluid, cover the balustrades that line the walkway.

983. You can smell the pungent musk of the animals.  You sense the putrified reek of rotten fruit and vegetables.  You hear and see the up-fluttering of birds.

984. Plagued by lilies, rhododendrons, and ferns.

985. A train of slinky sphinxes, slinky lynx, and slinky mink.

986. So many slick vixens and vixenish skunks and kinkajous.

987. A geography of exotic animals unfolds before you.  The fronds of the ferns dance wildly.

988. The vines are growing over the food shelves.  The packages, bags, and boxes are entangled in the vines.  You sashay down the agglutinate path—a path glutted with milk-plasma.

989. The vegetation is assuming a thorny, thistly character.  Spiderwebbing vines, crisscrossing vines, tangles of vines are meshing up the walls, unpierced by the sun.  Green tendrils spread across the multi-furrowed street.  The belt of vegetation has grown thicker, into a thistly thickness.  Everywhere is erupting hemorrhaging rivers of milk.

990. Black roses stud the sward.

991. The immensity of the jungle, the ever-growing, ever-flourishing, ever-blossoming immensity of the jungle.

992. Screens of light sifting through the branches and the leaves above you.

993. You enter Clark Street, which is blossoming into a milky oasis.  Milk is spreading across the aluminum ramparts.

994. Puddles of rancid curdled milk and whitish residue spill over the pipes while rats plash in the streams.  Within a two-mile radius, the spreading widening puddle of oozy milkiness.

995. Many-feathered birch trees.  Through the waving heather.  The flickering tendrils of the green plants.

996. You watch the animal intently.  Spewing from that milky orifice, the milk-geyser is forever spurting upward.  It descends to form a pool—a pool that blossoms into a massive lake.  Humans bathe in the milk-lather, touching the milk’s emollient touch.  The milk, it seems—though the term “milk” is only used here for the purposes of convenience—has a caressive effect on the skin.  Some humans speculate that the milk—this strange, deliquescent liquid—rejuvenates them.  One way or another, the milk certainly has invigorated and reinvigorated every human being who has waded in its flood.

997. Amour-whipping midnight quakings.

998. Wild dogs, badgers, and voles swarm through the shrubbery.

999. Into the voluptuously green jungle they tread.

1,000. The supermarket is crackling with cackling fauna. Bustling with animals, it is like a sylvan paradise in Consumeria.

1,001. You palpate the leaves. They pulse with fresh vigor. Pushing through the tangle of vegetation, a graceful, gentle deer treads.

1,002. Proud, hieratic, the double-wattled cassowary wobbles through the forest foliage, its folds of magic purple skin dangling.

1,003. Crawling in the foliage are crackling vultures and cackling monkeys and cooing owls.

1,004. Like some primeval grassland, like an African savannah baking in the sun, the city is owned by the beasts.

1,005. An orgy of roses—white, red, black—have come out of the Earth.  Everywhere flowers are springing out of the Earth.  Warthogs and wildebeest are wallowing in the oasis.  You push away the spurs of the vines and slink into the space.

1,006. The barbed-wire fence is permeated with sparkling green leaves.

1,007. Whisking their tufted tails, the boars wallow in the milk pool and chew on tobacco. Their ears stand up as you walk near them.

1,008. An elephant saunters into the foyer.

1,009. Effusing out of the hole and into the grassy banks is a gush of milk.

1,010. Shaking with jags of pleasure, the men and the women are writhing in the milk and petting the skin of the okapi and the zebra.

1,011. The humans are dissolving into the milk, basking in the milk, luxuriating in the silky milk.

1,012. Leaping up and down in the bright green grass, bizarre animals are dancing their dance.

1,013. The swaying palm fronds have an intelligence all of their own.

1,014. Emitting outlandish squawks, multi-colored exotic birds are feathering everywhere.

1,015. A tangle of thorny foliage twists around their feet as they walk.

1,016. A paradise of hippopotami is before you.

1,017. Asian musk shrews are foraging for annelids in the sushi.

1,018. Hedgehogs and moonrats are in the sushiary, sucking up the Tampa rolls.

1,019. Hedgehogs and platypuses paddle, wade, and float in the milk.

1,020. Looking closer, you see that the sushi emporium is slowly drowning in a bed of milk three feet high.  The sushi will soon be submerged in the rising milk.

1,021. See the opening and closing of the gulls’ mandibles.  They are cawing silently to the wind.

1,022. You see the crenellated silhouettes of vine-encrusted apartment buildings, feathered with ibises, egrets, and storks.  A profusion of reptiles and plants erupts in the city square.

1,023. Scintillae of fluorescent light play on the surface of the spreading milk puddle.

1,024. The gulls take flight and sail into the clouds.

1,025. The fluorescent overhead lights are giving to their plumage an iridescent sheen.  The ravens are not truly black, not a uniformly obsidian black, but a swirl of reds and greens and blues.

1,026. The cockatoos preen themselves with their beaks.

1,027. The cockatoos are pecking at the window.

1,028. You run your fingers along the mother-of-pearl linoleum walls as you walk.

1,029. The birds are warbling and burbling.  Ectasiating birds are singing their shrill trilling song.  (To ecstasiate = to go into ecstasy.)  She quacks, the quacking termagant.

1,030. Amorevolous birds gather together on the branches, nestling and nuzzling one another.  (Amorevolous = loving.)  Shooting upward, up come bamboo culms with frothy, slightly arched heads.

1,031. Look: The flamingos are wandering across the green, surrounded by a halo of mist. A wildebeest is steering its way through the flock of flamingos.  Now, both are immersed in the mist.  You can see their shadowy half-forms.  The flamingos seem unconcerned, as does the wildebeest.  They are lost in the penumbra of wispy mist.  Quacking insanely, the birds whistle downward, trilling their insane song.

1,032. The entire city is enveloped by the vegetation, by the ever-growing hootenanny of singing and dancing beasts.

1,033. The warbling birds are burbling, and the penguins squabbling volubly.

1,034. Swifts and seabirds—black-legged Kittiwake—nest on the shelf-like balconies of the tall white condominium building.

1,035. The party of humans penetrates the forest more deeply.  You know that they will soon be entangled powerlessly in the contortion of branches, trunks, and roots.

1,036. The opossums are so many heraldic beasts, presaging the total transformation of the city into a jungle in which humanity is no longer the axis of existence.

1,037. You look up and see the vast-winged birds as they dart down aerial streets and aerial sidewalks.  You are stalled by the sight of the birds.  You resume your walk down the arterial street.

1,038. Cactuses are holding up their candelabra arms.

1,039. There is a hadada ibis. It shrieks its unmistakable cry: haa-haa-de-dah!

1,040. Through the tangle of leaves, you see a crazy cuckoo foraging for caterpillars.

1,041. The cat traipses into the scrub.

1,042. An ocelot lopes off and away into the jungle.

1,043. You wade through a wave of high grass.

1,044. There is the flank of a volcano to your left.

1,045. The wind intensifies, a brisk build-up, zephyrs traversing the windy field.

1,046. Indeed, Chicago now has moors: grassy expanses of land that are boggy and swampy with milk.

1,047. Sylvan creatures, beasts of the forest, funereally dark.

1,048. The bird gives a clear, heart-exhilarating call.

1,049. Lichened trees.  Glistening with water droplets.

1,050. Entangled in the thick fat shrubbery, twirling vines, and vast uncontrollable trees.

1,051. You weave your way through the thickening stalks of green.

1,052. The newly blossomed orchids are rotating, growing larger and longer by the second, twirling and twirling in flowery whirls.

1,053. With sinuous movements, the black adders.

1,054. Blue-flowered, multi-tendrilled vines are spinning up through fissures in the pavement.

1,055. Lifting from the branches, crows squabble in an orgy of warbling and cackling.

1,056. Okapi are wandering through the mall concourse.

1,057. A nest of pelicans dangling on a branch.

1,058. As the milk bubbles up through the percolating ground, you see a sauntering gazelle.  A Grant’s gazelle, with fluted horns like wooden flutes.  Slowly sauntering, now it trots fast toward you.

1,059. Flecked with speckles and sprinkled with milk-mud.

1,060. The wheezy goat wheezes a sad song.

1,061. With spangles on its coat, the antelope canters out.

1,062. Shrews are tunneling through the flooring.  Others forage the aisles for food.

1,063. The forest is abundant with wild pigs and wild dogs and is flowering with pineapple trees and flowing conifer trees.

1,064. The chocolatier has become an aviary, with flamingos and storks and swans and owls and hawks pecking at the chocolates and the creams.

1,065. Bison with brown matted fur stalk the underbrush.

1,066. They are gorging themselves on the milk that flows from the trunk.

1,067. Moraceous tree-boughs sway in the wind; tree-trunks are engulfed by mulberry bushes.

1,068. The pipes are canalizing the mucky milk.

1,069. Out of the alley files a flock of fluffy sheep and a tribe of furry gorillas.

1,070. The grove of rusticating trees is forever dripping.

1,071. Gelatinous ice.

1,072. Crippled with malaise, he doubles over.

1,073. Skeletonizing clouds wisp past.

1,074. You have no reason to smile, but a motor reflex pulls your lips upward during this act of self-presentation, a tropistic jerk.

1,075. As you walk backward, trying to avoid all of this spreading ever-greening, the creeping tropisms of all of this green fecundity.

1,076. The vines trail along the street like damascene markings, like green serifs, like curlicues of verdant life.

1,077. They ooze across the damp bed sheets, oozing toward the acorns and the walnuts.

1,078. The gazelle-like haunches and smooth coats of the streaming brown horses.  The city is growing crepuscular.

1,079. Some strange bird is wandering endlessly along the milk pond, scratching the pavement with its long feet, clucking and braying: ka ra ka ka ra ka ka ra ra ra ka ka ka!  It looks like a pheasant, but is plumper than a pheasant.  It has glossy, sleek, dotted, and striped black feathers and a bright blue breast, which it thrusts out arrogantly.

1,080. He says: “I am not a campy happer.”

1,081. Upon emerging, you survey the landscape.  Garlanded with green lacy vines, the bridge rattles.

1,082. The atrium of the hotel is bursting with pandas, flamingos, rabbit, wallabies, alligators, and condors—a bustling aviary and zoological garden.

1,083. You move through the parade of wolves, raccoons, opossums, coyotes, goats, and elephant calves, joining the march of the bouncing quadrupeds.

1,084. Delivering a defibrillating shock to the brain.

1,085. Lobsters, the scampering, scuttling, scurrying crustaceans.

1,086. A showing of the cetacean giants.

1,087. Joining in the feast are dozens of coyotes and hyenas, along with a retinue of voles and woodchucks.

1,088. Humpback whales and right-whale dolphins.

1,089. You look at the funny-looking echidna—with its funny long yellow nose and puffy, spongy body that looks like a furry puffball.

1,090. Draped in semi-translucent skin and with a sucking, infundibuliform mouth, the lamprey.

1,091. Gives a spectacular panoramic view of an efflorescing planet.

1,092. The siding of the building is made of ivory-hued plastic.  She trails her fingers along the ivory-hued plastic siding.

1,093. Up-writhing shoots of green pierce the walkway.

1,094. Bleating sheep gnaw at thistles and grass.

1,095. They are slickened by the cascade of falling milk that waterfalls from the puckered holes.  A building enwrapped in the red mouths of red flowers.

1,096. The whistling-warbling of a kiwi in the underbrush.

1,097. The birds have come, and the animals.

1,098. Ostrich, ostrich, ostrich.

1,099. They are astounded by the vegetative expansion, the pan-metropolitan expansion of the vegetative life.

1,100. The walls are boldly white, whiter than milk.

1,101. The vines are looping around the telephone wires, enwebbing them.

1,102. Down an avenue of orange trees.  Greenish-orange oranges roll down the avenue, circling your feet.

1,103. Igloos of milk.

1,104. The spongy tactility of moss.

1,105. The window is refracting shards of light.

1,106. Sun-shadow.

1,107. Creepers are covering the awning.

1,108. The viridescence of tree branches undulates above you.

1,109. Writhing fleshy tentacles of a fleshy octopus, fleshy cephalopod.

1,110. They are sinking fast into the gelid gelatin.

1,111. Two glazed globules staring out into a vast ocean of space.

1,112. Galapagos tortoises make their way, slow wanderers, to the lowlands.

1,113. Deliquescing into a pellucid liquid.

1,114. Pollen, drifting seed, new trees.

1,115. The enclosing spathes are green—the spadices are yellow.  (Spadices are the fleshy club-like spikes protruding from the flowers.)

1,116. Folivorous lemurs are chewing up the leaves of the vines that spread across the café, the leaves that form walls of leafage, shivering growing walls of green.  (Folivorous = “leaf-eating.”)

1,117. The piscine life is variegated.  Minnows and tadpoles marshmallow and bloat.  Their skin grows porous and spongy.  Eels slither and swim sinuously through the warm eddies of white.  Standing on a pier, fishermen angle for whitish trout.  Half-devoured tomato carapaces bounce on the foamy surface of the river.  Surveying this immense zoological garden, it seems safe to say that animals have overthrown their human masters.  The clothing store is fast-transforming into a vineyard.

1,118. The city is now an arboreal reserve.

1,119. With their bright-orange dorsal fins and manes, these are oarfish—wondrous glistening oarfish, sea serpents of the deep.

1,120. The vines wave like serpents.

1,121. The vines are waving like serpents.

1,122. Hounds are setting on Caspian horses, delicate-seeming marshmallow horses, with powdery spongy white coats—the Caspians speed away; they have such a smooth, fluid gait.

1,123. The entire building is encircled by thorny branches and twigs.

1,124. Scrolls of smoke unspool over the steps of the cathedral.  His red cloak is wettened by the deepening blood stain.  This is an enchanted murder, and you are the enchanted murderer.

1,125. The gymnasium, the coffee shop, the appliance store, the restaurant, the supermarket are now botanical gardens and zoological gardens.

1,126. She says: “Obliques are a must.”

1,127. He says: “I do. I just kindly wish that you would leave me in peace.”

1,128. He says: “I can assure you most assuredly.”

1,129. He asks: “Is there something on your mind?”

1,130. Animals dominate this space, a topography of rhinoceroses, orangutans, and impala.

1,131. You watch all of this in fascination.

1,132. The sheep batten themselves on corn and oatmeal.

1,133. Trees bearing drupaceous fruit.

1,134. And as you wade through this miasma.

1,135. He favors her flavors, her chiffoned curls, the curls of the tigress.

1,136. He climbs back to shore.

1,137. And then they insinuate into the portal.

1,138. Everything is being swallowed by the jungle.

1,139. Everything welcomes its being-swallowed.

1,140. The intersections of the God-skin.

1,141. It is better for man, and for woman, to be alone.

Copyright 2014 by Joseph Suglia

Advertisements