Suddenly the trees are tinged with flame.
The green is burning at the corners
like a blade of grass withering beneath a light-directing lens.
All Posts
Funeral
They have nowhere else to go./
No instinct to burrow./
No mask to fit between/
small lungs and the poison air.
My father wants me to be a famous capitalist
A land, clean, civil /
No oily, heavy tar breaths. /
The Future is Cancelled
Is there any hope for these three young(ish) generations who are all struggling beneath the titanic weight of cancelled futures and a biosphere poised to collapse?
Metal Mouth
a smooth circular motion they tell me / is best for wetting the crooked flesh of it
Meander, If You Must
But flow down all /
The way to the sea. When drought / comes to stake /
Its claim
400 Years and Facebook
How long does it take more White people to care about the plight of Black people?