pull the trigger breach the dam bury the evidence we have the means, the stories, the blind need to misconstrue through archeology anything at all, create an arc of time and culture or an ark divine, in whose boots to tremble heebie-jeebie monkeys that we are. drop the rock breach the dame blaze on past her rotund flanks she can take it, and your dust will feed those crouching mammals shaking fists at your blind heavenly eye. read a book consider the clam so much more huntable than a mammoth we are as likely riverine as savannal things a land lion faster than a sealion, easier to hide we slip and blunder through the cracks of lowtide wondering what the high line means write a book assert the claim the earth is so many years old today, and we all began the same way. throw stones at those vacuous gasbags who contradict your clearly clever reading of the entrails your doctoral fingers mucking about in time it turns, it turns, this world a whale, be still, it turns. This year, I'm challenging myself to use every daily prompt as a title, in whole or in part, and see what unfurls. We are halfway through the Stroll of Poets' 30/30 for 2021.