A fly landed on Howard’s bathroom sink, he noticed the insect, placed his fingers under the leaking spout and sprinkled droplets of water over the docile fly. It didn’t flinch and accepted the shower as useless happenstance, like a death-row inmate closing their eyes without a tear before lethal injection… 

If a person catches a fly hovering mid-air, it’s because the insect allowed the capture to happen…

Holes retain darkness like an ink spill censoring the Lives of Poetry. Pupils expand and the mind restricts coffee sips rolling off the tongue. Corpses imitate ghosts posturing for photo-ops, flashes from cameras illuminate their transparent frames, hollowed out to welcome stares, placating the welcoming shock of onlooking fanatics. 

“I heard he took his life after drinking an entire bottle of cyanide.”

“Hey. The world needs ditch diggers too.”