~


stretching cavern
    stalactites elongate
lichen plaque where faint light reaches

guano softens the rocky floor
    giving habitat to beetle and grub

the occasional rodent carcass
    rots in the warmth

tiny bat babies cling
     first to mother fur
               then to cold stone

they wait for insect meals
          passed with love and saliva
                  eager mouths stretch    /

~



If I gathered all my bags
packed them lovingly and with care
folded neatly shirts and pants
taking extra precaution to carry spare undergarments

If I wrapped my toiletries in tissue paper
steam-cleaned the toothbrush
collected equal miniscule amounts of
toothpaste, shampoo, and conditioner
all medications labeled
deodorant in a special container  

If I had all the reservations and plane tickets
pre-paid
my printed confirmations with my wallet and cell phone
bags shipped ahead so nothing could be misplaced

then,



would you take me to


                               funkytown?    /

~
nuclear blasts leave an orange glow
           Trump sits upon his tower in a cape

an aura of ignorance
   and entitlement surround the quaff

hooded figures encircle the compound
           burning effigies chanting hate
                         waiting for new commandments

trading science for fascism
          he holds seven billion
                    human lives
                             in tiny hands     /

Mothers are drowning their
children and piercing
hearts with nails
because they
fear ISIS

and Jordanian
military will
eventually
slaughter
them like

goats.

~


days expanding beyond mere hours
the long dark of winter sweeps the land
              wide brush strokes lay snow across canyons
                    famished mammals push thick undercoats
                            to the limits of temperature control

red chapped cheeks carry scarf string
holey mittens and thin thermals
           barely sway the frigid breath
                icicles stretch and grab
                            clawing at beanies

strollers set in the drifts
playground toys like sticks pushing the odd
                     single bar into the sky
                            one lone sled waits by the hill
                                   hard red plastic shell and yellow rope handles
                                             as isolated as an Antarctic station

my words fall as fog
spilling to the frozen ground below
               my thoughts held in the tundra
                       await the spring thaw
                             so that they might finally express
                                 the ‘buuurrrrrr’ that no one heard   /