Monday, November 5, 2018

Amerika needs drugs

Out of the cave of your medicinal body,
brown and unadorned, illegally labeled,
your pharmaceutical wave, spotted and rainbow,
crests the white tile of this sterile

Amerika, the wall builder, the impounder,
not wealth but spoils of war
comes from the imprisoning
of the land and humanity.

Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice for the drug dealers
of diversity with joint
are spilling through the cracks
of the no border lands of the mind.

Amerika, your caste system of hate
is past; a jelly belly juju of diversity
spills out
even from within your own fertile body
of antibodies
inside you.

Feed their hunger with your plenitude,
open your mouth, open your borders,
open your land to the wild
beyond your imagination.

Rejoice, rejoice
and know you must learn perforce
to take your medication whole
or be wholly annihilated;
your whitewashed history
ineluctably colored
in a juju rainbow flood
of healing.

Monday, October 15, 2018

Work in the Time of Abrupt Climate Change

I originally wrote this a couple of years ago when I first heard of abrupt climate change and the idea of exponential growth of climate disruption with numerous feedback loops versus simple linear climate change only influenced by co2. Everyone by now is noticing the effects with severe weather, fires, etc. When scientifically conservative organizations like the IPCC are raising alarming warnings things are escalating quickly. I decided to try and get this published and dissident voice a progressive news outlet was kind enough to publish it.

Work in the Time of Abrupt Climate Change

Ants scenting a line across your stoop
commuting back and forth from home to foraging.
Commuters stop and go dreading the dreaded SIG alerts
on the Devil’s own parking lot - the 405 in Los Angeles.

What a system of queens sacrificing drones we must follow,
the wealth of the many in the hands of a few
and by wealth I mean love
between the forces of death and this brilliant creation
of all living things reborn as commodities.

Do you want to be a good commodity someone’s purchased
for your work and your buying
or a bad one whose worth makes more profit
by you sitting in a jail cell rehabilitated
by making stuff for Nike at 10 cents an hour…

I lied, it’s not about love or justice but survival

and I really don’t care if the rest of you
all die and go to hell
but I need a living system to live
and maybe one for my daughter just a newborn thing.

Oh, when you wish upon a star…

My parents are not idiots
but they are idiots for what they are told
to believe and believing it
and I am an idiot for lacking the courage
to stop believing in anything
like Hope.

Our greatest achievement
no hope and still fighting the good fight,
saying things could be different, could be better
as everything we ever knew, or thought we knew,
or believed
is flooded away, blown by storms, perishes
in fire - no gods, no angels
just our unbelieving giving us wings,
our unbelief raising us up,  the last to see
or care as we, the earth and every living thing
winks out in 50, 30, 20, 10 years time
and there is no hope but still fighting the good fight.

Ants scenting a line across a front stoop.
The system of queens sacrificing their drones.
The wealth of the many in the hands of a few.
The forces of death; the creation of all living things as

No gods, no angels,
our unbelief unfurling from our shoulders like wings
and we shall rise, the last to see and mourn
ourselves amongst the death of countless other species
on this once beautiful gaia mother earth
for all things are dying
and no more are being born.

originally published by Dissident Voice

In my poetry group, where I shared this poem, the comments seemed to center around the ideas of belief and the nature of reality until someone finally said “Can't we all just agree we are sitting in this room together?!”

That is the same way I feel about myself and all of creation being regarded by the current system as commodities. It is self-evident. But that is apparently not the case for everyone.

In the current system, the mass of the people “workers” are powerless drones guided by a powerful few – all of whom are trapped together in an illogical belief system where only profit matters. For example, in america we imprison our poor – i.e. surplus labor at incredible rates rather than create good jobs or educate them because it is more profitable for our private prison system to do so (control of citizen dissent simply an added bonus). Likewise, it is illogical to pollute a water system which you depend upon for drinking water unless it is profitable to do so and the decision makers do not live where the poison is dumped.

This system called Capitalism (both private capitalism – america and the “free world” and state capitalism – russia and china) kills and uses to exhaustion the natural systems upon which all life depends. And there is no mechanism within the system to correct itself.

Of course Capitalism may evolve into something else as it once evolved from feudalism but there are no more great land areas to take from indigenous non-capitalist peoples and there is no time as well. The coming destruction from climate change, and possibly abrupt climate change, is already leading us into the next mass extinction event – of which humans as predators on top of the food chain are particularly endangered.

One member of the poetry group, an educated man of faith, wrote in the margins of my poem, “Maybe not idiotic but 'desperate to believe'. We all need to believe in something, perhaps for our own security. Otherwise we can only focus on our own ultimate demise which could happen any time. Then there are idiots that do not believe! Idiots that think we are all dust and nothing more – evolved animals but they procreate anyway”.

I do not totally disagree, but am I an idiot because I am utterly confused by people who do not believe that this world is enough and have to believe in stories about invisible entities to feel better about themselves? And then fail to realize these same stories are also used to placate an afflicted, disgruntled population by their masters, or to create mass support and justify invasion of another's territory?

Yes, it is my belief that humans are dust – albeit star dust. But so is all of creation – we are all made of the same stuff. And although some would argue humans are evolved animals, I would argue humans “are” animals – no different than any other creature. Evolution is not hierarchical. It is the height of hubris and to my mind (considering the peril humanity has placed itself in) heretical to believe we are more than, much less, better than the rest of creation.

Saturday, October 13, 2018

30 day ambulatory cardiac telemetry

30 day ambulatory cardiac telemetry

scheduled for a month of walking around
and transmitting my heart’s intentions
to the man in charge 
of such things

the man who can explain the inexplicable
of what a heart wants and needs

my heart skipping beats even when
she's not around

the normal lumbering rhythm
now a day to day uncertainty

unmasked by sticky suckers like truth
on a chest of growing crop circles

some kind of tribute or retribution
for having lived or continuing to live

the itchy peeling skin saying it’s time
to start following directions

white wire below your right clavicle
green on your left sided gut
red button tip just below your left nipple
while black is always under the armpit

don’t ask how it works, who chose the color placement
or if it was political

only know the white torso outlined in black
with the beating red heart - is you

except in the shower where singing is allowed
the wires undone

how quickly we become inured to that half-
octopus medicine under our shirts - invisibly,
unconsciously under our skin
the electricity of us passing
side to side ricocheting throughout our bodies
slowly, so slowly losing momentum
with every beat

the wires at the end of a 30 day countdown
emerging and dropping away like grace
the only thing helping us to understand

originally published by Golden Walkman Magazine

Wednesday, October 3, 2018

On route 66
(after the painting by Courtney Carroll)

it's all messed up,
trees with eyes and a devouring mouth
of death and infinity all tied up
with falling humans and strumming angels.

The weird thing is, thanks to my parents, I can understand it all,
except the truck, a Semi, chugging along the inexorable highway,
puffing poison, hauling who knows what from who knows where,
the green cheese sun and moon
eclipsing each other.

If only I could fit it all in to the
story I've made of my life
like the hiking loner or fisherman
gawking at the spectacle.

Let's be honest, the Semi's coming to take us
home on its windshield,

us falling – fallen humans
really have no choice

dangling, dangling on the Florida Turnpike
like a cat toy – cat's paw
of fruit and luxury
at least while the moment lasts,

for the seas are rising; the sun is setting
no matter when you were born
so let us rejoice and listen to the music
of this moment be it angel or monster tree.

How fitting the shining cross of my parents
appears to me as a real tree,
Pontius Pilate, simple gravity and wind direction,
that most holy of men to sacrifice, a thrill seeker,
the root of all evil, living simply,
or perhaps, simply living
on the earth.

And it really should end there
but Dale and Paul continue to stand and stare
thinking someone really should be calling the cops,
concluding someone else will most likely take care of it.

In the meantime,
it's too late for the cops to do anything
and even if they were here in time
what would they do about it anyways?

“Who woulda thunk it, Dale?” “Who woulda thunk it, Paul?”
they continue to commiserate with each other.

The now and hereafter captured live
and streaming for everyone to see,
so go on and grab your camera, y'all,
I can think of none better to stand with
as we gawk at the end of the show.

Saturday, September 29, 2018

How to chop wood - the tin man's explanation

My dear, chopping wood
is an intimate affair involving
the cutter, the wood and
his tools.
For example, the grain of a thing
will tell you which way it yields
and which way it stands fast,
the density telling you
how much force
is needed
in order
to split it.
For chopping is not clearing brush
and neither is it sawing, my dear.
Chopping is a means of
breaking down
to constituent parts,
a way of burning away
a thing
to its essence,
its heat heating your body, your food
exactly what an individual needs
to survive.
So yes dear
when I called you nothing
but dead wood
believe me
I was only
my ax.

Published by Non Binary Review

on these walls

~after “On Gay Wallpaper” (Williams)*

not gay wallpaper but sickly
yellow paint once finger painted
with whorls of raspberry jelly

and on bare hanging wires
not the thread of heaven
but dusty bulbs casting dim shadows

after so much daily routine
a red carpet runner indelibly wrinkled
with worn directional living

what does it say that entryways
once furred with winter jackets
are now rows of empty brass teeth

that on windows lonely rivulets rain
with no faces pressed to the cold pane
praying to any childhood god for the sun

and on these walls not gay but gilt
faint traces whispering here too was life
we, the unremembered, we too have lived

* i n s p i r e d b y W i l l i a m C a r l o s W i l l i a m s