By Ashley Hynd
I peered through the telescope. Saw 42 constellations. Insignificant. Connect the dot skies, a dollhouse of cosmic dust, alphabetic blocks
C H O the messy floor of God’s playroom. His mother drunk on consequence never held him to her breast. Sent him to private school. On the way home he dropped his mason jar. Stars spilled out created the universe. Consequently, this is why we have plastic water bottles.