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MicMag Aug 2018
Suffocated by
Our pollution and greed
Our planet cries out
Please, people, take heed!
It's not too late!
There's still hope, indeed!
But please, act quickly
Here's what we need.

Engage (not judge) friends
With informative conversation

Secondly, go vote
For smart regulation

Next, please encourage
Responsible personal choice

And finally, take time
Stop and listen to earth's voice
MicMag Aug 2018
What percentage of the time

do you lie in that bed?
     the rest a waste
          of the metal springs
                    forged by
                    factory workers
                    pouring in their
                    unpaid overtime
                    to meticulously
                    shape the steel
                    into just the right
                    comforting bounce
     a waste
          of the soft cotton cover
                    picked by
                    (slave-descended) hands
                    white fluff
                    still echoing centuries
                    of black oppression
                    spun on foreign looms
                    shipped back
                    across the seas
                    dyed, woven,
                    stretched taut
                    into just the right
                    soothing texture
     a waste
          of the foam stuffing
                    made from...
                    whatever goes into
                    foaminess...
     how many hours wasted?
     daily
     weekly


What percentage of the time

do you write with that ballpoint pen?
     the rest a waste
          of the clear plastic casing
                    melded from petroleum
                    by corporations
                    extracting black gold
                    in exchange
                    for greenhouse gases
     a waste
          of the tiny perfect sphere
                    rolling smoothly along
                    tungsten carbide surface
                    exquisitely crafted
                    for maximum efficiency
                    by man's finest machines
                    factories churning out
                    thousands by the hour
     a waste
          of the bright blue ink
                    the mysterious mixture
                    of dyes and pigments
                    and oils and surfactants
                    spilling onto the page
                    recording your
                    delicate thoughts
                    in desperate
                    existential hope
                    they won't be as oft ignored
                    as that device
                    from which they pour forth
     how many hours wasted?
     monthly
     yearly


What percentage of the time

do you sit in that reclining chair?
do you walk in those polished dress shoes?
do you eat with that bent spoon?
do you style your hair with that fine-toothed comb?
do you turn the pages of your favorite book?
do you see by lamp's light in the guest bedroom?

     how many hours
     sitting unused, wasted?
          in a life
Ever thought about how much of the time the things we so desperately "need" sit around unused, unneeded? What a waste of resources and the time spent to craft them! What excess!!
MicMag Aug 2018
Nothing like the open road
Unburdening life's heavy load
Unbridled freedom was bestowed
Til the day
My car got towed
MicMag Aug 2018
two floor fans
perched side by side

one at full blast
******* in air
blowing it out
without a care
who's there
to receive

the other
half the height
black as night
silver blades silenced
unstirring
gazing into the distance
in solemn stillness
metallic meditation

three empty chairs around an empty table

sometimes filled with food
filled with people
filled with life

but now just ghosts
relics of the
(whatever came before
whatever comes after)

in the moment
nothing more than a waste of hard plastic
and glossy green paint
fossil fuels drawn from deep within the earth
so much life destroyed
so three ugly four-legged lifeless objects
can sit around a table
and share in the quiet nothingness

cat curled up asleep underneath
indifferent to the chairs' lack of conversation
indifferent to the fans' competing notions
of making the most of lifeless life
indifferent to everything
as only cats
and fans
and chairs
can be
MicMag Aug 2018
The moon's not a crescent
It doesn't glow
It doesn't shine
It doesn't hang in the air
It doesn't show your love
Or mine

Blood moons? Not ******
Blue moons? Not blue
Super moons? Not so super
New moons? Anything but new

Superstitious? Full moons
Don't fill the earth with fright
Don't induce labor
Nor raise werewolves
In the night

No man in the moon
Hate to break it to you
Moon's mysterious myths
Mere legends
All untrue


These unscientific lyrics
Carelessly thrown around
What a load of crock!

The moon is nothing more
Than a cold empty sphere
A pale lifeless rock

And this just in
From all the moonlight lovers:
So is my soul, what a shock!
MicMag Aug 2018
door opened
door shut, then locked
first morning urges
body greets the dawn

toilet seat up
pants unzipped
waste tube carefully aimed
flow turned on

trickling stream
becomes rushed torrent
small splashes
leave no mark

on steep polished porcelain walls
water slowly turning
clear to yellow
light to dark

liquid waste
flushed down the drain
shows signs
of dehydration

advising body
drink more water
restart the cycle
of urination
Everybody pees!
MicMag Aug 2018
Over the years
I know I've changed

But my memory swears
You remain the same
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