Posts for June 8, 2026 (page 3)

They were running up the hill above their house and the rising waters when they heard the water amplify into a liquid roar. The hard spit of steady rain peppered them. They watched the waters loosen their van from the driveway, then their truck. They yelled for the dogs to come back when they jumped in after the vehicles, as if to herd them back to shore. And dusk sighed into night as they stood on the hill. And the river rose to the roof of their brick rancher. And what might be swimming through their fluid rooms? And what stains would the swimming waters leave? They fed the dogs and made camp on the hillside among the waiting wreckage.   

I think about Icarus more than I should
But the oligarchs are clearly unaware
of the dangers of hubris

They move fast and break things with their chainsaws
both metaphorical and real
While feeling superior to the plowman and the shepherd
with their simple rough hands and tired muscles

But at the end of the day, or season, that plowman
will have fed his family and his donkey too
While the techbros and their ilk will have led young boys to suicide
and young girls to eating disorders

And we all drown as the ones and zeroes close over our heads
and the wings of democracy
melt beneath the blazing sun

Maybe one day
the floods will wash away
this secondhand sin
we find ourselves buried in.

We’ll climb our way out
of the deep-seated doubt
they sow and embed
‘cause we’re “just not well-read.”

We’ll rise without stops
‘till our heads meet mountaintops
where barons live in grandeur
‘cause they screw over the poor.

We’ll all take lighters
to those greedy outsiders.
Watch them burn like the coal
they traded for soul.

At the end of the day
sunset streaks across the sky,
crickets go mad
and a lone elm thinks
I have paper     Hell I am paper
I wish I had a pen
and joints in my limbs
as the wind lifts its leaves
and sighs in the branches
like a bow caressing a violin
I mean when we work together
we begin to inderstand
that we’re made out of song.

Attention All Shoppers!
It is now time…
to get out of here!
Run away
from the busted AC
be free.

Don’t trust the government
Any of them
Don’t bother belonging to a “party”–
they are two sides of the same
corrupt coin

Don’t voluntarily place yourself 
inside the box they have planned for you,
the captured peering out from the lid,
suspicious of all not in a box labeled
just like theirs

Don’t limit your freedom to
believe or dis-believe according
to the whims of some bully clique
or societal pressure

Be your own person
Don’t label and hate others–no 
matter their “party”–

They want us to forget who we are–
human beings, much more alike than
unalike, capable of incredible things,
until we are split into factions, 
forgetting 

who we are
and who are 
our neighbors

        the sole purpose of government 
        is to control and limit
        the possibilities of those controlled

if you want something more, 
you must claim it, and face 
them on the battlefied, if necessary,
to keep it

or you can sit quietly and hope
you are not seen,
accepting your yoke,
lips sealed

create wealth for those already wealthy.
Assets circulate in sinister eccentricity,
in ugly secrets. Hackneyed platitudes
cannot repair this toxic landscape.  

Unscarred, over-fed barons manipulate our daily lives
through stock options and insider trading.
This hostile takeover of human resources
leaves the minimum wage at $7.25.  

Melted for minerals, what is my material body worth?
There are no traces of rare earth.
Perhaps my innards could be sold.
My only value lies in labor for others.  

What is the cost of a pound of flesh?

My poems recently have been angry,
and there’s a buzzing pressure in my chest
like wasps forming rank.
I want to be a father. I want to hold a child—
my child—to my chest and mean it when I
say everything is going to be alright.
but then…
We’re back in the Middle East. BUZZ
Beef tallow and Vacinnes. BUZZ
Data centers consuming my hometown. BUZZ 
Unbidden, the first prayer I’ve uttered in years
vibrates through my lips.

Let them be born into knowledge of their sins.
Let them see, in the moments before they die,
    the gaping maw of Hell
Let me feel their blood on my hands.

blessed are those with strong opinions
who spit shrapnel at any bold enough to seek them out.

acid-tongued oracles
shrieking empty truths with priceless lies
unveiling that which aches to remain hidden

Head:
Watch it.
You’ve seen this before.
It only feels real; you know it’s a fucking fantasy.
A trick of the light in the golden hour sky.

Heart:
This time, though!
Look at him.
Look at how he looks at me.
This is new, different. Perfect.

Head:
Foolish girl.
He’ll take what he needs
and leave you to sweep up the mess.
You’re crying because you know I’m right.

Heart:
No!  I’m crying because
…well, because I’m terrified
but also exhilarated.
Does that make sense?

Head:
[ . . . ]
I can only keep you safe if you let me.

Heart:
(whispers) I don’t think I want to be safe anymore.

6/8/26