Thursday, January 17, 2013

Like Hand Claps

Your dead tree
Running down the middle of my dead spine.

Just waiting to be milled into 2x4s
for that suburban room addition
you been dreaming about for years.

I could find hope
if the ax didn't fall faster
with each passing hour
(like hand claps).

Your finger on the power button
foot on the gas, hand to god
and eyes on the screen.

Transfixed, it's hard to see
the shrinking glacier and drowning polar bear.
These things don't capture the imagination
quite like the siren song of our affluence.


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