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The guy at the bank
that exchanges my currency
thinks I smuggle drugs. And
the girl at the dry cleaner
today totally thought I was
there to rob the place. But
I just wanted to drop off
my coat and maybe
case the joint a little.

 

he said that he was a dog-person.

She said that that was trouble
because she was a cat-person.

And they laughed, and argued
playfully
but with some teeth
about the perceived virtues and
degeneracies
of cat-people and
dog-people.

Then they asked me,
Hey
what kind of person
are you?
And I thought about it
a little
and I said,
I think
I am
a tumbleweed.

And they looked at me
like I was
the idiot.

 

as I watch them wake with rusted eyes
rested and ready
eager to fist fuck Mother Nature again

I know
they will say that there is nothing to be done

as the reefs are bleached and the oceans spoil
as the last forests are hauled to the ground in chains
as the fouled earth moans under our trampling feet
as buildings atrophy in the manmade cancer of cities
as the white flag of our love is raised again and again
as the crow flies and the geese fly and
Man only falls

as the meat of our ringing laughter rots
as the last true smile circles the drain
as Time finally stands outside of itself, naked and weeping
as every compass points nowhere and means it
as the poisons wrestle each other in a chemical sky

as the best die starving, unloved, in exile
and the worst get worse and continue to
multiply

they will say that there is nothing to be done

as the moon swings in orbit around a cantankerous world
as stars hang unobserved from the gibbet cage of dark
as cheer and mirth are buried like criminals at sea
as the deserts spread rapaciously with sharp grinning dunes
as the body rots and the mind rots and everything rots but
Entropy never tires

as temples and cathedrals crumble in an air of disbelief
as the rainbows drown themselves in each puddle of oil
as all of life marches unwillingly to extinction
paraded at gunpoint in our thronging circus of delusions

as the calendar commits suicide amid unbearable hours of toil
as the heart finally gets what the heart has always wanted
and is baffled to find that it isn’t enough
as the last canary falls dead in the troubled mine-shaft of our selves
as the big fish eat the little fish with wide toothy grins
and the warrior spirit lies broken, shackled in prison
while the weasels are exalted
walking free and upright in the exuberant light of the sun

they will say that there is nothing to be done

as the flower children gargle pesticide on soiled deathbeds, alone
as night follows day nervously, shaky like a battered spouse
as the polar bears starve even in cola commercials
as the last lion roars in a degenerate zoo
as hot winds blow through dry river basins heaped with trash
as all of the plastic endures and endures and
endures

as the unscrupulous vie for and consolidate power
perched in false glory on illusory thrones
as the fools and idiots proudly remain fools and idiots
as budding voices of reason are buried by the sludge of average
as the rich and the famous take up microphones and causes
but remain rich
and remain famous
so nothing changes

as everyone talks about equality but nobody lives it
as action and compassion become the most endangered of species
as the music of life drowns in the stupefied static of awe
and quarks disassemble themselves before the altar of absurd

they will say that there is nothing to be done

as the hourglass becomes an anchor
as regret circles like a pack of African wild dogs
as the waste gets thicker and the waist gets thicker
and the ice gets thinner beneath us all
as the hyena is the only one left laughing raw
as the inscrutable sphinx retains his mysteries
over 4,000 years and still nothing compares

as the water becomes toxic
and the earth becomes toxic
and the air becomes toxic
and we refuse to stop it

as we refuse to stop one goddamn thing

they will say
that there is nothing to be done
for we have grown
comfortable

they will say
that there is nothing to be done

but I know that they lie

I know it is us

that we are ruining life
for every other living thing on this planet

it is us
chasing cheap trinkets and symbols of status

it is us
dedicated to the reckless pursuit of fabricated dreams
cravings engineered and shoddily produced in monstrous factories of greed

it is us
refusing responsibility for this

it is us
ignoring consequence for that

it is us
building a cesspit from a paradise

for a paycheck
for a living
for a transient and convoluted existence
at the expense of
everything else

it is us
as a virus
as a plague
as the scourge of Life itself

still, I hear them, their proclamations

they say
that there is nothing to be done

they say to just enjoy it while it lasts

but I know
and I think you know

I think we both know
that they lie

we are bound now, you and I

we are in this together

we can stop them
if we want to

and we can stop ourselves

we can take responsibility for what we have done
or have not done
and for what we will do from this moment on

let us start now

today

together

let us begin the arduous process of regeneration

of saving this world

of saving everything

for there is much
so, so much
to be done

 

These are the small suburban towns that every kid in America knows by heart, even when they’ve never been to them – mysterious ingrained knowledge like elephants knowing where to deposit their bones.

I remember the tousled sheets
decorated with all the dialogue of scarecrows
that we piled at the foot of your bed
like some misplaced linen tombstone
erected above the sappy, wet remains
of a night well spent
misbehaving

of arms and legs
and everything in between

of gasping laughter
and clenching fingers

of a night
where our spent joy
hung triumphant
like the ripest memory
and your starry eyes
rewrote the constellations
I had memorized
in some January sky
so long ago

and the words we whispered
over sticky pillows
between aching gulps of air
rose up and clung
like sweaty icicles
to the ceiling

they hung over our heads
for the rest of the year
dripping and
promising death
whenever that fickle bedroom weather
threatened to turn

and
I know
I left
before they could fall

before Consequence could finish
unpacking her things
and move in
on the sly:
a new permanent resident
in the fresh debacle
of our lives

and it would be a lie
to say
that I regretted it

any of it

what was said and
what was done

but I do sometimes
wince
at what was left
unfinished
between us

and
I still wonder
fairly often
how I ever
made it
out
alive