Soon All Things Will Owe Themselves To Progress

Soon all things will owe themselves to progress and nature will neither wane nor wax accosted by bulbs and cog-laden streams. Children in god-awful Christmas jumpers gather around the May-pole to watch the leaves become what they’re deprived of. We are taught to fear puddles, duty free purchases, and heroes speak in slant rhyme. Thermodynamics washes the feet of tired old gravity, entropic kisses to keep loved ones close; parody— if absence does what it does, we should leave and never return to this place of progress where bluebells can’t frost and starlings sing falsetto.