Everything’s always moving. Nothing is still. The earth’s always rotating like a basketball on a fingernail. Rhythms and vibrations are in all things living. The bees are buzzing with pleasure like phones recieving flower emojis. Time too echoes, and so does history echo itself ceaselessly. Here we are again, generations hence the plague. What will it be then? A lesson? A bump in the lane? Rhythm and rhyme can be changed, the record can be changed or just skip again, on to the next generations.
