C U on Planet B
Sacred texts cut up
into unfun Halloween masks.
Insurrections, sure,
but never where you want them
or how. You let the weird-
looking scorpion
wander through your dreams
because it might be a god
or your lost love disguised
when I arrive
to pour you a glass of pink slime.
Transcendence, sure.
We buy indulgences
and feel the sun come through
the monkey puzzle tree.
.
The History of Western Philosophy
A billion people: bummer.
Prayer hands at the wildfire,
budget for police only ever
increasing like darkness increasing
the volume of the coffin,
hopefully with a bell inside
in case you’re buried alive.
I watch a monster movie
and am sad when the monster dies,
a sadness reaching back to childhood
and the ur-sadness
forever poorly understood,
sinking out of sight beneath the waves,
waves shaded with blood.
.
Tuesday Tragedies
I’m not getting any drunker,
I say, very drunk.
No one cares.
Everyone hopes all this blood
is someone else’s responsibility.
The giant skull
floating down halls of power
says the problem is no one
wants to work anymore. (The skull
hosts a popular podcast.)
Several disasters unfold
very slowly
giving people time to post photos
of their demise for clout.
.
Stink Eye Magazine 