Sinking nodules in the sky. A sky full of sinking nodules. The vast skill is
filled with skies of sinking nodules. They crash open when they hit the beach,
like little waves all rolled up together. They break open and coalesce when
they hit the curbs and gutters, like crystal automobiles careening out of control.
They shatter and hiss when sentenced to die on a hot sidewalk, like the fried
egg in the popular aphorism.

In fall when the clouds convene, the nodules attend and bring all their friends.
Exhorted to mass suicide, they join hands and leap into the vast depths below,
passing spaceships on the way up. They'll die in the millions on the windows
of the spaceplanes but the pilots don't even bat an eye.

A silvery spoon of slinking nodules, cogs and cognomen, the nodule cognomen.
No man knows the destiny of those sneaky little snodules of sky, skysnot stunning
down through the hissing sizzling sunshine. Now here's a sky full of Lichtenstein!

Suicide on the streets below, mass suicide and reincarnation. Whisked heavenward
again in the reincarnation columns. Dropping first to the tiled floor of the delivery
elevator, dropping next to the linen dais of slumber & procreation, dropping next
into the elderly letterbox of senescent regression, dropping finally into the most
extreme of ancient reversals. Dropping and dropping and dropping. Past all the
spaceships returning home.

The karma spaceships, reaching escape velocity, escaping karma gravity
The human spaceship, returning to the karma sky, striking gravity from their
rolebooks. Slinking gravity from their shoplifting pockets, walking out of the
story with gravity secreted in an inner pocket, and a heartless hand on their