Category: Poems


Do You Think We’re Fucked?

photo-42

Do you? Do you? Do you

think we’re fucked?

 

Knowing what you know

of storms the size of hemispheres.

of entire forests on fire.

of right here ruin

wrought from

deluge

dry outs

die offs

do you know who’ll be included?

 

What systems are so stable they will save us?

What ways are you imagining endure?

 

Knowing what you knew once

of money

death

I forget what else.

Supplies of tortured creatures

slaughtered

shipped

and salted

for your sandwiches.

 

Showing all the faces of your

arms amassing neighbors

who prefer to die in fear

before they give up any freedoms.

 

Glowing still the sun that’s sure to swallow you.

And you. And you. And you.

If not today, then soon!

 

When will you think we’re fucked?

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at the window
the temperature plummets, rockets
subjects of dread
duck and dart in darkness,
shimmers of shadows
outside the house
on the other side
of the old pane.

wait.
please.

i have stuff.
to do.
to offer.
so much stuff.

we drift and grip
draw lines
forget our songs
lulled, lonely and lecherous
we wait.

i can’t possibly learn all of your names.
ruin, resilience, rhinoceros,
posterity’s pronunciations are too pure
for my throat.

i linger in liminal time
savoring the lie of
saving the earth
before the knowledge of loss
becomes the language
in which my choices are cursed.

i’ll blind monsters
with my screens.
and when my screens
die or come alive
i’ll have recourse to streams,
rivers of relatives
we’ll hold fast our tribe
through the floods,
and for a while
nourish, lament, and touch each other.

shatterers, scatter your fragments.
i see through wholes,
i merge the holy abyss.
when our lights fail
we’ll count stars.
when our aquifers empty
we’ll drink love.

it’ll probably be tomorrow morning.
i would wake up early just in case.

swallowed by the superstorms of gas giants
sea and sky coming at the same moment
moving from taupe to mauve to maroon over eons.
seeking sexual encounters
with similarly experienced
storm eyes.
we’ll time this too.

doesn’t it feel good to grow peaceful?
responsibility slides
like oil through a pipe.

Soulstices

We emerged from heat, two hydrogen atoms, attracting an other, sensing love across the flurry and joining forces to become more.

We swirled slowly slowly coalescing and coagulating into harbors of heavy elements, galaxies of gummy, godly glory.

We moved like molasses, gurgling in such thick dark I could only feel the thrumming of your tentacles. You persisted and I listened.

We burst forth, breaching Balugas, journeying between endless poles, pursuing lonely scrapes of shoreline with only our celestial compass and friendly tale flips for reassurance.

We laid low, tucked in turtle shells, proud of our patterned protections, our itty bitty claws scraping pebble’d sludge, and discovering delightful green shoots that burst with juice.

We stand! We dance! We sing! All are Mother Goddess Mother Goddess Mother Goddess!

We fight, so often for so long, falling under fury and ferocity and fear, over and over and it seems Hell is born alive among us.

We summon our wolves, Alpha’s ahead of the pack, here we come – one last raid on human camp before the humans drive us from our home forever.

We nestle in our woven nest. Our parents, so broad and so keen, feed us seeds from their beaks. They nudge us out before we’re ready and we tumble, flutter, soar on gusts.

We root and reach and drink and absorb and watch for ages and ages. You are down the hill a bit, by the arrow rock. I wave, many times. Creatures come and go.

We, the bride and child of a Nile scribe, encourage our father to meet Pharoah’s deadlines.

We, Zazen friends, contemplate also moss and ponds and the bristling winds between the bamboo.

We succumb to coughs, hang our heads and cringe before our masters, we rend our tattered clothes in ruin. We lose each other too quickly.

We float along currents, lay on cushions under smoky domes, rise to sample figs and fruit. I splash you with warm water as you shuffle by.

We can hear the clop clop on cobblestones through the window. I am on the loom as you burst in the room with your scrolls and your excited eyes.

We command the waves, brisk, blistering, intrepid explorers, a lotta rope, a lotta fish. On my night shift I spot the new world. From then on we are nervous.

We cut fast through the cane, le Plaine du Nord au Saint Dominique. Come my brothers, to the big white house, then down the road – Port Au Prince – we’ll take the town. Tonight will mark our holiday.

We stayed on the move, our band of mysterious eyelashes, Romas along the road, pausing only that time I was thrown in prison. But you rescued me, and never let me forget it.

We thought we had a good thing going. Onward and upward. But it was all gone by ’29. You threatened to jump like our acquaintances, but I knew you didn’t mean it.

We survived a jalopy crash. We regenerated limbs from stem cells. We assisted breakthroughs and then retired from public view.

We transformed again and again and again and during the Great Turning we supported transformation in everyone we met. During the Great Turning, we were great.

We peacefully strolled down to the river, drawing up clean water. Then back up the hill to our earthen homes, pausing to enjoy a breath, grazing bright greens by our side, collecting eggs from warm cob, sharing smiles with passing loves. You nodded at me and I knew.

We are mother and child, our last winter in this old house. We continue.

Rescue Our Rabbit

In our 9 years since you were a baby in Brooklyn,
You’ve explored many corners, hopped beneath many persons.

We’ve lived in some states and we’ve followed our fears.
From you I’ve learned calm, peaceful watching, cocked ears,
readiness for bounce, safety under things,
good scrubbing technique, and softening.

From me you’ve learned trust, touch, care, coughs and impatience,
freshness and sweetness, Aretha Franklin and raisins,
and at least the words poop, breakfast, love, hay and Bridget.

When we’re apart, which we must be, I visit
such far away places and do things unsound
for a critter who likes to have paws on the ground.
I think of you often, tell all I adore
a person who looks like a shoe on the floor.

When I nuzzle your nose and know I’ll be away
I trust that I’ll see you some not distant day.
And on return there you are! Bouncing ’bout like a bee!
Pissed off at arrival, then so happy to see me.

This time, without a parent or partner to watch you,
I thought some substitute sitters I got you,
Some subletters set up, shook hands, but they sucked.
And I thought for a second we were totally fucked!

I thought agreeing to keep a rabbit okay
was the kind of commitment a person maintains.
But for the first time, my arrangements break down
away ‘cross the country, and the snow’s closing town!

I thought you were in trouble, thought I might have to catch flight
If I had one wish for Santa (after a long talk about capitalism) it’d be to get you some hay on this dark winter night.

But Ho! A Christmas miracle! 20 CIISers!
Offers of help! Arrangements! Reassurances!
A few “Why didn’t you set this up better buddy?”s,
A tribe that rallies ’round it’s community’s bunnies!

We all can be sometimes the most needy of creatures.
It’s the difficult times that are truly our teachers.
But you’re such a tough queen, I know you’ll be great, bun.
With such a smart papa to seek integration.

I’m so grateful for friends colleagues comrades and neighbors.
I hope they call me next time they need a favor.
Bridge, we’ve finally found a real web of support!
A home for myself and my sweet lagomorph.