From the Inflection Point of the End of the World
From the Inflection Point of the End of the World
I spy with my little eye
An orange
Powering the news
Like a homemade battery
Like a science class potato
It’s going to get better
Before it gets better
He lied
My paper can stuff my chimney
And my carbonation can fuel me
But I can’t stop you from suicide
But you think even you can’t do that
Because the orange doesn’t exist
The news doesn’t exist
And the world doesn’t exist
It’s a hoax
I’m cold in this corner of Moscow
Near a window sill
It’s loud out there
Why would I stick my head out
Saudi Arabian sand is warm
I’m an army general
And I’m stuck
But it’s cozy and quiet if I don’t stick my neck out
I’ve got enough bills to last the end of the month
But what about when they stop?
When we are out of green?
And it becomes only brown
What does it mean when the letters stop coming?
Can we grow anymore, sir?
Or will we sit still
Or will we drop
She told me about the eye of the storm
But this graph doesn’t have a swirl or a curl
This is a sloping line
A slide for you
To put it in child’s terms
Any color you like
Because you’re in charge, sir
Of the inflection point of the end of the world
originally published
When She Stops Singing
When She Stops Singing
I know a caged bird who sings to be freed
She sings her anthem
A shrieking demand or a sweet whimper
In hope to be let out
But, when she stops singing?
Is it a rest, an apology, or a forfeit?
Maybe a sickness or a reasonable doubt?
A silent confession or final concession?
No. An understanding.
An inversion of desire,
A recognition of fact, limitation, and control,
and power.
She recognizes a sanctuary from a cage
That keeps the jailers away
Her hope reflects inward
To heal, not to beg
She sings her tunes for her own sake
To build her own power
Rather than parrot a standard melody
And ask mercy
A vow to disavow
Better to bide, build, and break
Than to despair and be broken
Drowned in song
Like the dandelion hides at night
To blossom again in the morning
(lawn mower or not)
(sun or not)
Like the fox grows thick fur in the winter
To conserve energy in the cold
(a waking hibernation)
(a fact of her nature)
All these creatures shy away, hide, or put up temporarily walls
But only to grow such strength, fortitude, vitality
To persevere in a hostile environment
With wild courage and bountiful hope
TBD
text