From the Rehab Center 11/4/2021:

Halloo, outside world.

Nan here, reporting from The Laurels.

No one’s reading this. Oh well,

I’ll keep it secret, then.

It all started when my planet began

shedding its alternate universe,

and I emerged with intent

to return to an enlightened

old-fashioned hymn singing

religion, in lieu of

anything more promising.

I rapidly found myself

unable to steer without

ending in hog slop;

I could “Wash my sins  away

and study war no more.”

Animal kind has comforted itself

forever, maybe, with bedside tales

to bear the basically

uncontrollable roiling desert

(sometimes misspelled dessert).

Since I have a choice I’ll take the

New Testament, not the old.         nan   2022