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.





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