Work Text:
the Earth is the third planet from the Sun;
It's the nesscary Distance for life.
Maybe the Sun is lonely
Does She dream of being closer?
A little closer
before we were made
and We would've been safe;
Because we wouldn't have existed.
But if we didnt exist,
there would be no reason to be closer.
A little closer now,
None of Us would exist.
the Girl you read about would've been safe
the Boy I held would've never been able to paint
He never could've preached love,
They never could've mistranslated it into
hate.
the Sun knew this
so she found a loophole.
the Sun didn't move,
She just got hotter.
Keep your metals inside
Move plastics away from the windows
Those oily, marinara-stained Tupperwares,
Their only movement was melting.
Men out at sea;
Their Ships left sailorless.
Women building;
now Buildings left lifeless.
People on their knees,
Flesh stripping off their bones.
the People had melted
because they couldn't stay home.
They had crawled up from the clay,
Dry mud piling underneath their raggedy nails
Nails meant for Digging,
Teeth meant for Ripping,
Memories made to be Molded,
Bodies meant to be Disposed.
Your peephole was your tool for
hypothesis
No souls could be examined if you stayed put...
You know this.
Now isn't the time for chances
Missing limbs from what?
No eyes from what?
Why are they so determined to live?
Why are you?
You never answered the last question.
You'll draw the blinds,
Close the curtains.
You'll hide in the basement.
You'll look up and see the ceiling,
Your human wonder to see the stars...
It isn't worth it.
It is in times of boredem and need,
whether that be a rapidly changing
Political Landscape,
the ground turning to terracotta,
Or you just want to,
We will make art.
the Romantic poets believed emotion
triumphed Reason.
Postmodernists tried to find Objectivity.
If they didn't shrivel up,
If they didn't cave and refused to see the grass again,
If they didn't die from their singed throats,
If they were still alive,
How would they view this?
To a Romantic,
The moment Humans separated from nature,
That was the beginning of the end.
Further and further we stray from God
and Her vines
is The further we stray from ourselves.
maybe this is true
because I'm only staying alive to see:
yellow daffodils
the Waves glittering
the Swingset before it melted into a
molten pile on the Scorched mulch.
You only care for looks when it gives an
excuse to point your rifle.
I can still remember the Romantics I was
forced to read in high school;
and They were right.
I hardly paid attention to them
the readings,
the Writings,
the Writers,
the Meter, rhythm, alliteration...
To me it was pretentious
Maybe to you it was beautiful.
Now I know,
It was both.
Now as I write my stories,
now as I try to write beautiful,
Lyrical
rhythms and meters:
I see humans
I see people
Let me see them again,
Now isn't the time for these rules and Lyrical devices
but how do I continue without them?
Don't have me guess which face or
news article is fake.
Evolution didn't give me the necessary equipment for straying from Her vines and grapes.
I've forgotten how She and Her word tastes
As I forget nature
I can only recall:
The first sky scraper I ever saw
You
My brother
Her barren walls
Make no mistake!
I am also filled with less than
satisfactory memories
I built you and her an apartment in my
brain and heart
If we can't have nature we must have art!
However,
To a Postmodernist,
The sun got warmer,
Visitors introduced themselves,
and FEMA was---