Poetry

It’s Not Easy Being Green

The captain always goes down with his ship

Backbones litter corporate basements, no time better than the present than to shriek and swear and lament, question Washington’s brittle pretense.
Global South in twilight sunset, while the rest of us fear Serpents — East and West, each quaking tyrant — consumptive, fragile, fading, violent.

A bright tomorrow, frabjous advent from many a blood doubloon spent.
Onward toward a greater torment!
Never mind the mounting dissent.

True, I’m just another client doused in glitter, glory, silence. Treat my shower-heads like hydrants in parched California’s climate. Flippant. Phoney. Fooled. Compliant. Wondering where the hell our time went. Flipping switches, raising sirens. My daily bread the work of pirates.

Heed the downtrodden and strident
And the Pale Green Rider’s trident
Gaia’s scythe and nature’s riot.

May terra firma stand firm — Amen.

|Los Angeles| Environmentalist, Writer, Historian of the Weird. I seek to shield this dimension from ruin, or something.

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