Look closer...
the winding trail
is baked to perfection,
bearing the scars
of a caesarean section.

Only the snakes
dare travel along I-8,
one-by-one the seasons lie prone,
in heat this sun will castrate.

The burnt aspects on faces
don’t smile or frown,
they peer out as residue
to places perished in the wake of
a cityscape’s head trauma,
calling out to the heaven’s above
as they await her to rise
with wings from these ashes,
in anticipation for a day ne’er to draw nigh,
even the steady fall of acid rain
will fail to wash away such genocide.

A favorite haunt transmutes
into a ghost town,
burning into the ground
the heat seeps into the soul,
and the procession begins again
for whom the bell tolls.

Towers of steel melt
as popsicles on the pavement,
the sun’s punishment
is constantly transcendent,
the noise of sparks and hums
rattle the spine,
today’s forecast is a good chance
of saturnine.

Eerie colors at dawn
make for a spectral scenic view,
picnic lunch in the park
is categorically taboo,
the hunters of men
swoon in subjugation to this tyranny,
weather’s wrath was everyone’s destiny.

Live a little, die a little,
pretend it cannot happen,
but in the end we all windup
as peanut brittle...

Machine head at the wheel
Getting instruction 
Traitors of life bringing
Final destruction 

Fleeing from flames 
Crying tribes losing homes
All left behind is 
Dry cracked bones 

1984 is the present 
World leaders lying
**** your agenda!
Can’t you see the world’s dying?

What are you?
attractively modified faces
On the souless corpse
Thriving for redempion
Whilst hatred runs through blood
There’s no place for you
In the deepest ocean
Nature knows what you do
How you destroy your own home
While singing the happy songs of conventions
When in reality plastic nations
are signing their own westphalian papers.
You play the games with the air you breathe
by selling carbon.
You cry for signed documents,
which do not change a thing.
You want to close your eyes
and destroy what took so many years to build.
And for what?
Tell me.
Tell your family.
Tell your planet.

My words lack lustre—
Incongruous cornucopia thoughts,
Trapped beneath delicate finger pads.
Afraid to rise and fall,
Shackled to Q-W-E, I-O-P.

They lift,
I hit keys like lightning strikes,
Loathing materialization,
Which fails to break ground,
That so desperately needs breaking.

One lightning strike,
A whole forest alight.
Ancient giants burn to the ground,
Gracefully accepting defeat—
Their remnants, fertile soil.

We must learn from the trees,
Who of their own volition turn to ash,
That old paradigms collapse,
Novel systems take their place
The phoenix there will rise.

My words lack lustre—
I fear they won’t be heard.
Drowned out by deeper voices,
Pulverized by hands that
Fit both of mine in one of theirs.

I trade high-heeled femininity,
Never step on any toes
**** that. I stomp bare feet on the ground,
Rattling the Earth to her core,
Each step perhaps, could make her feel less alone.

Odin is angry
You keep producing your trash
Calling it candy
Parasitic gnats
Too many of you
******* up O2
Mindless generators
Of useless waste
Polluting the environment
Toxifying the atmosphere
Suffocating the noble
With your ***** pampers
Thus you are thieves
And guilty to please
Committed the crime
Doubled down on your grime
Compounding your sentence
Torturing innocents
Blaming the blameless
Soon you'll be armless
You shouldn't have taken
From the clean and good
Nor named them ugly
Or left them without wood

There’s an ocean, collected on the other side of the world.
Away from those that taught her destruction.

Learning from the land what it feels like to sink.
What else can she do but weep?
and slowly flood as we sleep...

empty
plastic
oceans
only
sink
and
****
the
island
seemingly
pris­tine

down by the river, we see through the shore,
and bear witness as human proclivities roar.

Diving into the water, we hold its wet hand
for the rivers enlivenment, so few understand:

so down by the river, we will lay in its bed
while lullabies sung by the lapping waves tread;
as the river explains, in liquid morals unsaid-
its teachings, in riptides ,flowing into our head.
  
as the sun on the water, scintillating, does glow
it calls to us now as we're destined,

we go.