Something wicked this way comes;  
incensed, ravenous beasts,  
matricidal, snarling hordes.  
Invasive species, apex predator.  
We never had a chance.  
    
Monuments of blood and stone  
reaching up to the heavens in towers,  
each of their dens its own Babel.  
Expand out, they cry. Build up. Dig down.  
Rip out its heart and throw it into the fires!  
Use its energies to feed the war machines!  
Cut everything in two!  
Break the bones, drink the marrow, split the essence!  
    
But entropy ran out; expansion gave way to collapse.  
The process reversed;  
their emptied mines filled up with corpses,  
drained lakes drunk with blood,  
all their great sanguine works collapsing.  
    
And now it comes down to you.  
Stand among the ashes of seven billion souls,  
your brothers and sisters turned to dust,  
cast your Ozymandian eye over the sands,  
and tell me it was worth it.

I’m taller than her now.
I joke and say I’m growing
Up and away from her but
She doesn’t laugh. Because
I am: horizontally.
Plants grow toward the
Light and my movement
Is matricidal as the womb,
The matrix. That’s what really
Makes me sick.

I’m taller than her now.
And smarter, and stronger.
And saner, if that, colder.
But still I’m smaller, or
When I say good night
And watch her
Watch me shut the door.
I feel my angles, rounded
Corners. But I really don’t
Know who I am.

I’m not a boy and yet I
Must be. Not a man though
I should be. What she sees,
Or what I think she sees,
Might take my breath away.
That’s why I thank god for
Making humans irreflective.
If I could see (She sees herself
In me, her father too.) I’d
Oedipus my eyes out.

When will they see
the hawkish types are no more
able to fly than they are loving
of the earth and her animals
scampering on two legs,
swimming deep, flying on a flap
of any kin, of any breed
with pulsing blood and thoughts
of open pasture and blue sky and
peace based in love for sisters and brothers
with the same blood; the same mother watching
matricidal fratricide again and again
and again, children flailing without learning the secret
whispered in her wind
moaned in her shifts
echoed by her current
falling in her rain
so politic and briny