what i’m doing today

we’re going to the thrift store while my government drops bombs in syria.

i might look at the used books as we enter another middle eastern conflict.

it’s half off day as the press ramps up their estimation of ‘brave’ president fuckface.

i’ll say excuse me as the old lady with a full cart pushes past me in a narrow aisle of clothes, but neither of us will mention the fact that our country has recently started waging another war.

what was i supposed to get? i think, as i forget entirely about neil gorsuch.

i hope to find some record player speakers before a warhead lands on our soil.

we also need to find a shirt for me to wear on my wedding day, which will be 2 months in to another occupation without end.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

war chest

just park that jet on grandma.

put the tank in the library.

let’s store these grenades in that school.

drive that humvee over to the junk heap.

there’s a pond for that naval vessel.

this prison will go great with our dog pen.

course you can fly your drones where you’d like.

barbed wire? there’s more back in the baby’s crib,

she don’t mind. she’s little.

 

 

imitation game

this is a new theory of mine:

the lyme disease theory.

 

to start,

you may already know that

lyme disease is caused by ticks;

little parasitic arachnids

adept at

drinking the blood

of their hosts.

this is fairly well-known.

 

did you also know that

lyme disease is sometimes called

‘the great imitator’?

 

it is an extremely difficult disease

to properly diagnose.

it often mimics the

nightmare maladies:

fibromyalgia,

multiple-sclerosis,

ALS,

parkinson’s and

alzheimer’s.

 

a person close to a person close

has lived with an

alzheimer’s diagnosis

for the past three years.

turns out she actually has

lyme disease.

now that they know,

doctors think

they can cure her.

 

isn’t that crazy?

 

from the prolonged, sorrowful descent

into the incurable fog of alzheimer’s,

she may yet return.

thank heavens!

 

(so be watchful for ticks.)

 

now getting back to the theory:

it often seems that our

sick world is hurtling

towards

annihilation.

 

at the least,

we’re looking

pretty bad.

 

but,

perhaps neither our nation

nor world has

actually gone mad.

 

suppose we are

living with an unchecked

and untreated form

of lyme disease

which is

imitating everything we fear

in order to survive

within us.

 

perhaps it is the same culprit:

parasitic ticks.

 

the ticks descended upon us

only god knows when.

i postulate they’ve been

feeding from us for a while,

as our tragic symptoms

are well-advanced.

 

also, as ticks feed their

bodies swell.

the ticks we carry

should probably carry us

they’re so damn big.

 

they’ve taken purchase

on our aorta to ensure

they get all the blood

they need.

 

at first we were frustrated

that they needed such

necessary blood.

yet the ticks

are very

convincing.

 

and so we acquiesced.

“there is enough for all,”

we said.

 

“we’ll always have enough,”

we thought.

 

but as they drank and

fattened themselves,

they poisoned

our blood and

they’ve poisoned

our lives.

 

now our limbs flail madly

and rip at our own flesh

trying to end the pain in

our poisoned nerves.

 

now our brain

is deluded and not working

quite right because

we can’t recall

who we are.

 

now we live with a

craving for death, as

we see the future holds but

more and more pain

to endure.

 

and there will be more pain

unless we fight

this disease.

 

right now the ticks

are attempting

to swallow us

whole.

 

“your blood is no longer

good enough,”

they say,

“plus you owe us for

our service, so

we’ll just take

the rest.”

 

now the ticks tell us

“we are america.”

wasn’t that

our name?

 

the ticks tell us,

“we are in charge.”

the host is now

the guest.

 

the ticks tell us,

“you need us.”

don’t you

need us?

 

for so long

we’ve listened.

 

(we even dutifully listened to

their medical advice.)

 

but we are the body.

 

and a body near death

has astounding resilience.

 

before death

a moment of clarity will

come through the cloud,

a tunnel of light will

extend before us

and a voice will

erupt in our minds:

 

you are the body

that pumps the  blood.

you are the body

that moves the hand.

you are the body

that controls the voice.

you are the body

who listens to conscience.

you are the body

who bears all the fruits

of their pain.

you are a body

worth saving.

the tick says it was him who

spoke those words.

 

but the voice wasn’t like him

at all.

motherfucking bullshit anthropocene

oh fuck. dude! fuck!

what’s your fucking deal, dude?

dude, fucking everything’s going fucking extinct!

no fucking way, dude.

i’m not fucking joking, dude. i’m reading about it right fucking now. fucking three-quarters of all species on earth are gonna fucking die off forever.

fuck you.

i’m fucking serious. fucking cheetahs, fucking apes, fucking bees and frogs and tons of other fucking shit.

that’s fucked. what the fuck are we doing about it?

not a fucking thing. 

well that fucking sucks.

fucking right.

fuck…

i don’t know though, humans are pretty fucking smart.

what the fuck is that supposed to mean?

maybe they can fucking figure it out before everything is fucking dead.

fat fucking chance.

maybe build a fucking generator that cleans all the fucking pollution out of the air and fucking cleans the oceans and shit. fucking elon musk this shit.

no fucking way.

why you gotta be so fucking negative, dude?

cause it’s fucking humans that fucking caused this fucking thing in the first fucking place.

maybe now that we know we’re fucking killing every fucking thing on earth, maybe we can fucking do something about it.

yeah, i fucking hope so.

fuck… why you gotta talk about that shit? now i’m all fucking depressed.

you think it makes me fucking happy? i feel like shit now.

dude, let’s go get some fucking food.

good fuckin’ idea, dude.

oh, did i tell you i fucking lost my fantasy football league? got fucking second to fucking hosk’s fucking girlfriend.

dude, that fucking sucks.

i fucking know, dude. fucking sucked major.

fuck this seriously

welcome to

post-truth,

god-money,

buy buy buy world.

where

the vortex of our collective ignorance

is swirling in the pit of our guts.

together

we’ve broken ourselves apart.

 

striving towards a store bought life.

a gate to keep out guilty thoughts of privilige

and poor people.

existing because economy.

 

fake-news land.

real vs. fake as in:

the russians are coming!

pizza-pedos hide in plain sight!

this election was a battle between two sides!

it all becomes real because

no one knows what is

fake.

 

schools flushed down the toilet.

left vs. right forever.

this hollow land

viewed through a screen

is suffocating in its complete lack

of ambition and kindness and

purpose.

 

there is no other purpose

for everything or

anything other

than money.

bills on a pallet,

numbers in a numbered account

that no one wants you

to know about.

 

blood of the kids?

our greatest treasure.

humongous footprints of evil

that look like craters on a dead planet.

we are ants in the shadows of

cthulu.

bring me the head of terror and

i know it will be a

white man.

 

shuffle the papers,

say ‘i don’t recall,’

win the game with lawyers.

don’t forget to take

their curtains. i know

the baby is screaming in

his dead mother’s bleeding arms

but there’s a market

for tragic collectibles.

 

there’s no fighting this monster

which is us.

the invisible hand guides us in relation

to one another, but

maybe we were supposed to be alone.

there is purity in the humble self.

peace in meditation, introspection,

silence

 

or we could just share,

give, awaken ourselves

to our own evil.

we could give relentlessly

to fight away our greed.

 

my dad has a poster,

“teamwork: none of us is as dumb

as all of us.”

we will destroy this planet.

hubris is what tells us

we’ll survive. that we’re

resillient enough.

we are the unsinkable

species. nevermind

the rest.

 

if you need me, i’ll be

reading books to kids in an

elementary school bunker

that is everyday closer to

being taken away.

 

and the kids,

all born since this war was 8,

well,

fuck them, right?

 

we will use them later

to die for our

what-have-you…

peace of mind?

 

 

from this

 

when gagging on

the stench

of death’s hot sewer

breath,

one remembers

the flower smell

in a lover’s hair.

 

i tell myself

fear is

transcendable.

 

runaway injustices

stampede our bodies

and stomp on our faces,

crushing air from our lungs and

shitting on our brains.

 

they say we’re dead, but

we still claw at

the lid of the coffin.

 

darkness is absolute

except for the light behind

our eyes that we cannot

seem to extinguish.

 

we get close in the dark coffin.

 

then she whispers,

‘i’m pregnant.’

 

‘i’ll save it,’ i say, and

i prepare the hanger.

 

 

but the baby comes fast,

faster than our wheezing

breaths.

 

it comes.

its little hand melts

the walls and eviscerates

the monsters in

our darkblind eyes.

 

this baby is so strong.

stronger than us.

 

we teach it all we know,

which we know is not enough.

 

for instance,

we cannot teach her how

to get out of

this.

 

our bodies turn to dust.

 

she is a seed in dead soil.

 

elsewhere

i remember st. helens

and the life after

explosion.

 

i see a slender fawn

gallop through a

world of ash.

 

i cry and see it rain.

our baby sticks her tongue out

to catch the water.

 

her mother taught her that.

 

i think,

maybe she will make it.

maybe.

 

she just might.

 

 

 

the narrow road

they drive their buses full of angry people

right down my throat.

(i don’t think i’m alone in this, it’s just

i can only speak for myself.)

but as i was saying,

they drive their bus down my throat via

this very narrow road they’ve found in the air.

they drive this bus on this road until

they park the bus in my stomach.

my guts cramp while the bus idles

and fills my boiler with stinky exhaust.

i can feel the angry little people

getting off the bus.

they wade around my stomach mucus and

hydrochloric acid.

one guy always tosses his wendy’s bag on the ground

as if he owns the place.

 

but what can i do from outside my skin?

they keep driving in and

filing out of the bus before they say

the pledge of allegiance together.

all while polluting my body

with their trash and exhaust

and noise.

“it’s a free country,”

they tell me.

 

i guess

freedom knows no bounds.

 

the narrow road, i don’t know how they found it,

but god be damned if they ever asked me.

if they had, i would have said:

“please find another way to get where

you’re taking these angry people.”

and then i’d have said,

“my stomach isn’t for your buses anyway.”

 

nobody asked me though.

it wouldn’t matter if anyone asked me now,

though, because all that happens

when i open my mouth is

exhaust pours out and my voice

sounds like an idling bus engine

and my words sound angry like

the angry people

whose voices echo up my esophagous.

 

i can’t escape all the arguing, which

puts me on edge so

i’m guilty of anger too.

i’m mad as hell, but not

because i ever WANTED to be.

 

i don’t understand though.

why must they keep driving this way?

why?

i used to sing before this road,

but now i have potholes on my voicebox.

 

now i sound like

a traffic jam.