A little rat-a-tat-tap

Group-think tanks
splashing ink like
ASCII with hyperlinks
I’m done with identity
Political expediency
Eugenic entitlement to
Hegemonic enlightenment
I’m losing the need
To plead my reality
Or what I might need
What I will or won’t be
In the service of greed
I leave it all to you
Sisters and brothers
From a billion other mothers
Cos I’m hopeful and hopeless
And no part of me believes
We can group-think our dreams…

…a-rat-a-tat-tap

Immediate access code

I don’t know all the names
by which you are summoned.
Sensing the many-layered resonances
in the stillness between
this heart-beat and that nerve-pulse,
where the breath lies empty,
time is even weaker than gravity.

Wading through the torrential
outpouring of carefully cultivated
bits of data, coalescing into
a category we might call news,
I am becoming as one attuned –
the seer of mysteries and
the oracle of plutocratic expediency.

The keystone for every good joke
is misdirection, like that time
they drained the oceans and provided
desalination-in-a-box kits for arid lands,
quiescing the climate protectors
with seven generations of indenture
for the privilege of a drop of clean water.

The drunkard, drowning in a deluge
of his own illusions will do anything
to extract one last drink, ad nauseum,
spewing out slack-jawed solutions to
supply chain problems – fracks himself
some lubricant for the road to annihilation.
Mate, we’d better hide his bloody car keys
before he kills us all.

I don’t know all the names
by which you are summoned.
In this bottomless cycle of avarice,
the accretion of our histories is forged
in the bodies of children and tattooed
inside our eyelids. No matter how we’re
chained up, we have always been free.

Our immediate access code,
the soul-memory of our ancestors,
is written in the blood of love.

!

Infinite loop

(i)
I’m not the only one who has thought this
yet I’m the only one I know who is locked
in an endless, mindless, cyclical
conversation with myself over the
contradiction of struggling for recognition
and usefulness-proving-my-worthiness
in the hope that a few crumbs will fall
from the robber’s table

May we live one more day

To partake in the veritable feast
of appropriated resources
cleaved from appropriated lands by
squishing cultures like flies between
nerve-deadened fingers
and people —
like flies
flies breeding in corpses
the sucked out husks of the eternal
commodified and sold back to us
for the small price of your soul
and a lifetime of fruitless toil

Let it burn, brother

(ii)
what is left
what remains
after the sun
passes through

could this be
pre-dawn light
secrets whispered
something new?

wheels of time
whorls of life
breathing hope while
dreaming blue

one’s too close
two’s too far
finite realms crushed ‘neath
trembling shoe

march onwards
love will not
break lock-step with
what holds true

*