 KJ Hannah Greenberg captures the world in words and images. Her latest photography portfolio is 20/20: KJ Hannah Greenberg Eye on Israel. Her most recent poetry collection is Mothers Ought to Utter Only Niceties (Unbound CONTENT, 2017). Her most recent fiction collection is the omnibus, Concatenation (Bards & Sages Publishing, 2018). Pitch, Yaw, and Roll Consequentially, the characteristic property of stable bipeds, (those less well known than extreme sequestration’s helpers), Bestows no rationales, vies for no ensuing whispers, barely Bakes soufflés, scarcely, contemporaneously, propels topics. Save for beauty’s inexpert, gripped branch repetitions, we Morph off subsequent generations combined in communal Entrapments; no rōnin’s ever commonplace or unthinkable; Events cascade by hand washed, barbell-festooned animals. Pretty types work inversely from unsightly, sessile life forms. Eventually, tensegrity’s based on unusual, wild lees of strain. From then on, scraps gobbled by biturongs, harriers, tigers, Heal earlier cutting’s rough spots, chivy bizarre opponents. In eldritch city, or weird villages, gangs of sinister bourgeois Regard proletariat struggles as slighter starship scuttles. Such Mad leave-takings dry up once words are umpired overmuch. Everyone wants mammoths - children, at least, nourish them. It follows that rainy seasons’ vain attempts to apport lambs, Focus barren energy away from mating’s repetitious notions, Offer home-grown foodstuffs to old, timorous communities, Delineate, into portions, designs pending junctures’ taxation. Yet, negatively impacted childhoods, alike full brick follies, Motivate keenly observant bullies to relinquish troublesome Epistemologies, concede more human behaviors emulating Biturong-styled: stout feet, semi-retractable talons, incisors. At Three, the World Attempted Me A small cat’s fidelity and other palpable forms of love, Pragmatically, made for the rejection of a ruler's recipient Flights through galaxies and searches for bank managers. Sliding from À la quatrieme devant, my college sweetheart, Lacking great wisdom, sound judgment, style, agitated Repugnance, pots full of arbitrary whims, also bad coffee. A software architect, my oldest teen, whizzed on the Web, Sought bridges from bios to the bottommost articles. Bannered Ads on profile URLs. Elsewise, she counted SEO traffic. Veridicality in advertising, like poodles soaked by rain, sucks. “Truth” apart from “goodness” bestowed upon young masters, Pollards old souls’ province among unacknowledged offspring. To make way for select lessons, those staged by fiduciary leaders, Privately-owned skerries transform into embellished party palaces (Restoring integrity to ramparts means naught to hyperbolic jetsetters). Whereas retreats differ from spas, some sets of alterations push Vulnerable others to levels of harassment. Their actions continue To lag intentions, attended by family members, until they fall over. Face it; having no idea how to "grow up" does nothing to deter The sifting of financial information from various stupid étolies. Life becomes a study of cycles. Round we spin, frantically. Adult Wibbling, Wobbling, Falling Down Adult wibbling, wobbling, falling down, starting all over is droll.
Concurrent with urging boys and girls, even unicorns, to grow up, So much fussing over next generation’s stuff, makes elders forget Their unwilling censorship of sacred familial information byways. Sure, sewing pockets into the cape folds of grotesque actors, evokes Patterns in lesser places than marked ridges induce in buffalo hide. Also, fictions’ alleged empirical framing of problems remain tosh. Media coverage–enthralled people willingly rely on writers’ edges. When reading about infamous metropolises, in glossies or newsprint, It no longer suffices to remit electronic curses; delusive data’s popular. Perhaps, veiling broadcasts’ chroma could help amigurumi reproduce. Failing such strategies, there’s always old, foolish auditors’ opinions.
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