Driftwood… 

the temperature was maddening in the last few days

humidity made sweat cling to the body like old grease on an engine

the ocean was calm in the heat, eerily still and silent

ahead the clouds grew dark and thick

the vessel was thrown, its momentum violent

the darkness spread and covered the skies

while the torrent fell hard like nails against skin

visibility had shrunk, focus difficult to maintain

the constant rolling and uncontroled motion, made the stomach sick and uneasy

I hold against this angry tempest, with no direction

disoriented, like a piece of driftwood

my only hope, to make it through

A Morning on Earth…

Outside a high rise office building stares down at my 1930s apartment. There is not enough parking for the tenants, the waiting list for parking is a year long minimum. Against my wall and on my desk a fifty inch screen streams live video of the news, a few feeds, email and this website I am typing this on.

The six inch black screen I carry with me at all times tells me the bus is fourteen minutes away, an application option allows me to see an approximate location of the bus, probably transmitted from GPS signals on board. A box fan makes a soothing noise as it blows air from outside, the back of the fan dirty from the polluted air it moves around. The inside of my lungs must look dirtier.

I work on computers all day that cost as much as most people make in a year. The industry makes billions upon billions of dollars, the company hundreds of millions. The yearly salary of the bosses at my job is over one hundred thousand dollars a year over their workers. I cannot afford to get my teeth fixed and sometimes I struggle to buy food. My stomach is currently cramping from eating the same thing for over a week, two meals a day.

The city will host the Olympics in the next decade, construction is booming and cranes line the sky. Yet there are over fifty thousand homeless people in this city, enough to populate a town anywhere in the world. And rent prices keep soaring.

The six inch screen shows the weather outside is seventy three degrees Fahrenheit, partly sunny, with a rise of ten degrees by 2 PM this afternoon.

This country has millions incarcerated in high security prisons and jails, many of them run for profit. Most of those incarcerated are people of color, most of the crimes committed probably due to drugs. Videos posted globally show the repressiveness of the police state which we inhabit.

Our climate is being decimated by our forces of production for profit. The Great Barrier Reef is dying, and will probably all bleached in the next couple years. There is a land mass of garbage in the Pacific ocean the size of Texas. Every year has gotten hotter and hotter globally, causing the ice caps have shrunk significantly. Climate change will starve us, killing us slowly. The poor first.

Two hundred and twenty eight years ago today, the people of Paris stormed the Bastille, taking the armaments of the fortress, and freeing its prisoners. The French Revolution followed.

Today is 14 July, 2017. This is not a cyberpunk novel, this is our reality.

Good morning.

Weathered…

don’t have time

to spend on useless gestures

don’t have time

for my name to be in your mouth

don’t have time

to use for shallow tricks of mind

don’t have time

to spend it on truths shown long ago

don’t have time

for reasons or excuses

don’t have time

to hold on to meaningless pictures

don’t have time

nor room for masks and posturing

don’t have time

and space of mind to give to what is already done

don’t have time

for messages nor hopes built on glass foundations

my time is too valuable to spend

on decomposing sentiments

 

Visibility…

the best day came

when there was nothing left

but the rotting stench

of innards left outside to decay

 

a switch was turned

and all was shown

as roaches scattered

back into their holes

the deception exposed

 

in that state

a withdrawal of it all

helped sharpen the view

and a focus took hold

 

today

a scurrying can be heard

and while visibility clears

something kind of smells

Caves…

like a rag

and forgotten laundry

clothes in the rain

I hung

 

and gleefully

you explored

with bicycles

the hims and the hers

clothes on the floor

diseased pigeons

pretending treasure and depth

lied there

writing verbs

 

at night awake

alone

and cold

solidified shadow

like mold

I let grow

 

in light you drew

pictures were took

and events and energies

flowed

revolutionary freedom

you show no fear

with weirdos, and Bees

in swirls of green smoke

 

in glass shards burning

I processed my way

recalling the hot summer days

on rooftops with pain

the strength in need

has always been with me

 

oh and don’t be fooled,

those magical kingdoms

are made from

shit where mushrooms are grown

Stand…

glacier of blood

block and bound soul

warmth wanted

like a fugitive

sought and hunted

a hunger

craving of sustenance

to fuel the flame of life

nights and shadows grow

increasing in their mocking

whispers and conspiracies

weary bones and frozen heart

in colossal darkness

still stand firm

await and hold

for that reason

to exist

in this

world

 

Melt…

people in Aleppo tweet their final words

Great Barrier life dies in irradiated oceans 

the news only speaks of the shit coming from Trump’s mouth

Militarized, mechanized police wound and kill

no room for dissenting opinions

Every year on record , it gets hotter
we are not in control 

of the things that clearly control us
a death spiral

to a symphonic soundtrack

played over images of fast food and smiles
we never reached a peak 

plateaued only  in avarice

selfishness  and conformed

in down comforters 

a living fantasy under freeway overpasses

at a cheap $775 a month