Forget our sterile strains of green,
soft, choking lawn.

Forget our fertilizers, chemicals,
and killers.

Let our families relearn to walk
with nothing between the Earth
and their bare feet.

Let us remember the native seed.

Let it take me,
those towns I move through,
and those I claim to know.
Let our Institutions fall—
crumble down through the
failed foundations of our
own self-possession.

It's nothing.
It's Nothing.
It is Nothing.
It Is Nothing.

So, why the hesitation?

There is still dust in my eyes
and ringing in my ears;
the serpent coiled in the bottom
of my pack counts coup each
time I reach in.
I've known of its presence
for years now—
ever since I began
my walks with Death—
but I let it have the satisfaction
of its Killer's game. Why not?
It is an easy kindness.

We stood and watched,
mesmerized by its brilliance,
pacified by the warmth
that radiated through our bodies.

Our highs flowed up through the heat,
riding the tips of the flames
as they licked at the sky,
incandescent and greedy.

We knew it was burning too hot,
too fast—
but only the crash can humble the high.

Lay me open
and watch me bleed
and I’ll watch you too
to help you feel
seen as you take in
this pain
that you so needed
to witness.

We are panicked because we've divorced
ourselves from Nature. We feel our lives and
time to be of singular significance.

We are panicked because we don't
accept consequence. Consequence
comes later—we think ourselves exempt.

We have proven ourselves inept
at mitigating our impacts, inept
at living and multiplying sustainably--
inept at respecting Nature,
our Planet, and those we share it with.

Nature is not an enemy—nor is Death.
Disease is a tool they both use,
they know when and how to use it.

Nature's virus is Her shining testament
to the limitations of the scientific mind.
It stands as the form of humility,
served with exponential growth.

There is nothing of singular significance
within my bones, heart, or skull.
I am merely a fragment of Nature's Flow.
I did not choose to come here,
I will not argue when it comes my time to go.

It struck me that
taking life and giving
life represent two perspectives
of a single act.

Collapse;
collapsing force.

Monumental;
monumental pain.

Shifting in the night,
ripping through torrid dreams—
each atrocity screaming its own cry,
existing through its own suffering...
each plea demanding its own recognition...
creating its own world of pain,
its own Reality, encased
in its own experience of torture.

And you...
where do you turn?

We look so hard
that we fail to See.

Move before the walls tighten,
go before you’re asked to leave.
Breathe in that old t-shirt one last time,
the one that still holds a faint
remembrance of a past lover’s scent.
Say your Pagan prayer
as you lay it down over
the yellow burn of split pine
and watch your spirits
dance to one more song — 
twisting and flowing up the flue,
whispering their final, dissipating
goodbyes before joining the
ocean that waits to greet them
beyond the stack’s order.

Goodbye my lover.
​

Submit yourself to Nature's voice,
this is not a fight—
your enemies are of your own making.
What are you scared of, Death?
Do you also stand in rivers,
attempting to halt the water's flow?