You’re Gonna Miss The Island When You Get Home
Here we are along with the entire world
Asked by global governments to stay home
Look at us, in our living rooms, at our kitchen counters
You aren’t sick, are you?
Aren’t you home in pajamas?
Violent Health
At work I plant hemlock trees in the swamp
My pencil rolls off the desk, lodges in the carpet and grows lead branches
Staples slip through cracks in the drawers
Then there are little metal lily pads
Pens develop spiny leaves and turn the water dark
I flick erasers off the sides of my desk so there are white magnolias
My shoe splashes under my chair
My elbow nudges a stack of post-its
They scatter into a hundred hot yellow paper ducks
Every day I take a canoe and the birds help me row
This Is Just to Say
Those pens were mine
Before I stole them
Same as the files and paper clips
Just because you are cheap
Does not mean you won’t pay people what they’re worth
You’ll just have expensive enemies
Who simply take without asking
Has Yet to Build a Raft
I slipped into a river last night
My hair was wet
My clothes were soaked through
Bramble hooked into the current
Water sopped down my back
My head lopping heavily
Some dreams just keep going
Waking up is only slipping into the same river
Furious
In the brown of Bakersfield farms
Where the desert is the freeway
Desperation took to its feet
Kicked the 5 to dust
The windows blistered
From the anxiety inside
Because unemployment doesn’t create anything else
On the highway, desperation grew into even more
It was discovered that shame has a physical form
And it’s furious
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