I saw us in that moment,
three circles interwine
in a venn diagram.

Making me dry of words,
just because in that moment
I had nothing to make me dark.

I never thought I could find
what I just had a sip of
and I have never been more thirsty.

It's tea with no need for sugar,
It's a perfect milkshake
and an olive in the martini.

Now you tell me,
for my world is lost.
What am I now suppose to write about?

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

Nothing like the open road
Unburdening life's heavy load
Unbridled freedom was bestowed
Til the day
My car got towed

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