What’s so funny?

I’m not laughing.

Heavy chunks of the sky

are falling on our heads.

Grass is growing downward

into the earth, not out of it.

All of my books are sprouting legs

and walking away.

There’s nothing funny

about these happenings,

so why do you laugh

uproariously at them?

If I could stop all of these events

and put everything back to the way it was

I would, but how can I stop

the world from changing before my eyes?

I don’t know, but I wish you would

stop saying it’s better this way.