Lonely (Field Notes from a Catastrophe)

Are you lonely yet? 

Its spring, where’s all the noise?

Spring peepers have been drowned by racing jets

Carbon overload, flashing lights drowned out earthen joys.

Apples once relished in ached bites, juice dripping down our throats in wide swatches

have turned into dry carcasses of things we used to watch


Are you bored, besides?

Its summer, why is the heat so overbearing?

Beaches once quenched our thirst for violent tides

Now Harvard is drowning, its forefathers swearing

have remembering times where grafittied concrete walls or oil slicked blacktops

weren’t our only haunts.


Are you unaccompanied?

Why is it so unsafe to be alone at night?

There used to be days you could walk around unfazed; like most luxuries

safety is rationed in haphazard fashion. The most goes to those blights

those corporate egos who houses used to dot the coast

before the acid oceans and misshaped cetaceans ate them like toast.


Are you stymied?

Where’s your work gone, you hopeful ecologists?

The amphibians, the fishes, the birds have been choked out; the trees are strangled by ferrous ivy

Fauna died out in the wake of wartime quakes, you’ve turned into eulogists

for everything whose pelts will never again gleam in the sunshine

whose calls and eyes won’t ever meet any senses of thine.


Are you miserable yet?

What happened to the fall?

those colors that used to be such overwhelming gazettes 

of the crunch of nature’s preparation for vast hibernation, all life slowing to a crawl

now its just endless vacillations between two climes, 

one hot and sticky like a fevered whore; the other cold and quiet, frozen time.


Are you regretful?

When did the snow become our enemy?

Those days when life’s history was still a mystery, happily missed in handfuls

school days cancelled, snow days were humanity’s remedy

For the fatalism that came from being too informed, too awake, too upset

we felt it better to be ignorant, found ways to live with Nature “better” spent.


Now the planet is melting, an inhuman flow

our loved ones buried in melted asphalt in throes

Summer shed its golden glow, methane clouds make for a pink-eyed morning

Like the sign of so many infections, mass die-back, no time for morning.

before population dynamics shout out fatal schematics, another species death knell is called, 

And a midst our own violence we realize we are now the loneliest creature of them all.





Daydream ( Hiss from the Moat)

Sitting on the hill

bored, not quite wanting any thrills

but certainly something more excting than just this hazy daze.


Spring has come

why aren’t we having any fun?

this is the one season that couples are supposed to bloom.


Fruitless, flightless, let’s ignore the company of others.

I’ve got failed experiments, organisms to smother.

I steal a book from my borrowed lab on my way back.


This blue book is about cetaceans,

those flippered gray-black amalgamations

smart like people, but so much more murder in their eyes.


Whale ecology is not a cuddly as you’d like to think

black-eyed orcas just want to see you sink,

blood clouding the water as they feast on you.


Blackfish, blackfish, complex niche you’ve carved

We hold you captive, where you slowly starve

Who will free you when the world ends?


I read on, lost in a daydream

remembering when life was like whipped cream

when intellect was a gift, when it didn’t hurt to be awake


I hear a voice, far away

its my love, that golden hum should hold sway

over this pained page turning.


Suddenly he grabs me, screaming my name

I look down, and see what’s to blame

My foot inches away from a greedy duochrome face.


Hisses from a verdant moat

the scream is caught in my throat.

your beady eyes stare out from the algal blooms.


In my stammering stutters into your white walled cell

forgetting about my own, almost caught in death’s knell

languidly dropping into your jaws as if to say hello


For now I laugh it off,

“I was just distracted”, I explain as he scoffs

Just like the rest of the world.


Blackfish, blackfish, complex niche you’ve carved

We hold you captive while you slowly starve,

Who will free you when the world ends?

FEET. (Colonizers on the Hill)

Some of you have died, 

your soft shells caught onto the forest of petri dishes

But still, 99 of you remain

some perverse manipulation of the old nursery incantation

You’ve taken over my incubator, 

made that old refrigerator a holographic info-graphic of your hot Southern homes.

I feed you, every day, you demand your bug oatmeal

With the stamping of a million steatopygic feet.

It is those limbs which so intrigue me

each adorned with a little sucker punching suction cup.

Sometimes you spread it wide, an Oriental fan

serrated and filled with a million tiny knives.

Other times, its a little bowl

outlined tightline of zippered up purses.

You grip me with those mysterious feet

a minisucle hug from a 7 gram bug

You’re just colonizers, cruel invaders,

bending me to your ultramarine worldview.

But I love you so

your diminutive mandibles covering my thumbs with the smallest kisses.

And so, every day I give you all the hours I don’t have

and kiss those nanoscale, aquamarine feet.



Crash (The Tumble down the Hill)

I went through the day wishing I could sleep forever

to simply lay down

at the top of the hill

and be buried, entombed in the tundra.

a dramatic rise and fall


its seems I am the queen of winter, throned

only to be defenestrated by the subtle gesticulations of an old matriculate queen

still bristling from the fall.

my red hair was too obnoxious, my demeanor too nauseous, my relations with her corporation of plant lovers too much for me to deserve.


walking along the hill

all the places I once felt safe, at home, at peace

time seems to have reversed itself

this new reality of hissing spats and splattered disses

is cruel future that i wish to miss.


I fall into the snow.

the last seams that held my shoes together have given out

I attempt to rise, thinking of the kind voice that once gave me reason to rise before even the sun

but the vagus nerve that once innervated my sweet heart

has decided it is time to check out.


this snow is so comfortable

the cold of it is refreshing, 

freezing my coal-hot tears in place as they gather at my throat

the ice pokes my skin like a million silicate needles

gentle pricking into me, feeding off my heart.



feast, beloved brethren, dance

Be held in the rigid joints of my arms

Take from me what you need. I am but a fallen flower, decayed

My voice rings no more, solely the echo remains. 

My heart beats no more, just a cadaver’s trophy lies entombed in snow.