by on July 2, 2022 :: 0 comments

I ate an intangerine,
as tangible phantoms dream
of how we used to reach out and touch before the big machine brought us all together so separately,
they tell me the world used to be more real but just as mean, I see what you meme.

Take a bite out of the war crimes glitzing up your screen,
spit out blood and naughty thoughts of bodies littering the streets in spring;
fascism bubbling up from underneath these peace-loving democracies,
hypocrisies abound when we compare reactions to the stream of seriously perseverant refugees escaping
war, delirious, from Ukraine vs a place like Syria, or mother Africa.

Stamina is what it takes to make these double standards but,
we’ve always been good at showing the world we are running towards the idea of progress,
like a backsliding treadmill in sexual congress with a sinking ship throwing off ballast at both wings and
calling it a two-party system that works,
we are just a bunch of circle jerks that stole the world, ruined it, and gave it back without the perks.

She had a name before we made her take the walk of shame and it wasn’t dirt; Earth was the first
plus-sized woman spilling over with the treasures of her self-worth. We wore her ass out, infected her, and
now for what it’s worth, she’s worse.

Oh, she’ll recover after the fever comes that boils the sickness away,
we are a plague with shoes that sings the terminator blues,
we delivered our own judgment day,
and now how we pray.

To God be the glory, to Earth be the Sun,
there will come a time when our time will come,
we can’t hide or run,
but we think it’s fun
to imagine our own exciting extinction.

But, and here’s a funny distinction,
we blow up just for getting fired,
liars done signed the pink slips,
our rivals all got rehired
after a Catholic-style master bait-and-switch.

We put our trash in the ocean,
we put our smoke in the sky,
we shit the bed and slept in it,
but want it changed before our children die,
but they will drown in our filth,
we’ll see our hell in their eyes,
and as the land cracks history open,
and volcanoes arise,
and tsunamis wipe out the irradiated cities as the emaciated sun says goodbye,
we’ll wish for a fucking hole in the ozone,
instead of violently ultraviolet skies,
we’ll reminisce about the polar icecaps,
and we’ll miss wildlife that once could run, swim, or fly,
and as for I?

I hope I pass away
long before the day
the music dies.

By the way,
I made my
irrational national American pi(e)
with these intangerines,
so you can throw that Apple out the window, there’s a computer worm bit clean
in half,
and as flags fly at coronaviral half mask,
I, at last, become intangible,
almost unattainable,
hard to find, like a good Lunchable.

This Dallasite’s disappearing into the broke – back – ground,
a fruit fly on the western wall,
I’m the Observer leaving a paper trail to be found,
the flaming cowboy watchman watching y’all,
(hell of a peepshow for a deep throat,
but this counts as my beat poem,)
so goodbye, all!

editors note:

In death, we’ll hold that rictus, while Earth will still have citrus. – mh clay

Leave a Reply