positivity is a plant without root,
withered petals dangling acute.
obtuse excuses are abusive homes
with leaky roofs and we're spluttering
in the gutter as our lungs
fill with rainwater.
integrity is small and it is fragile,
but at least it's foolproof.
i critique, therefore i am.
engaging consistently
in an emancipatory endeavor,
a liberatory tour-de-force.
false hope is a ******* noose,
endangering our biosphere.
the anthropocene is here.
we will not survive
if we remain aloof.
pursue truth.

the worship service looks full this morning
though, admittedly, i haven't been
in attendance since Christmas.
families in their Sunday best
sit on wooden pews
in a patriarchal church
that spent its tithings
on a multi-million dollar
gymnasium rather than the poor
their savior told them to look out for.

men, women, and children
awkwardly pretend
to sing contemporary hymns
beneath their breath,
hoping no one will notice
as they pick their noses,
thinking absently of Easter dinner.

i write poems
while the pastor prattles,
his shallow words
an empty drone
filling my ears
with white noise.

i feel myself drifting.
i haven't been sleeping
lately. the news has got me thinking
each passing day might be our last
on planet Earth and i'll be incensed
if i waste one minute more
than necessary
in this cramped
and ugly church,
a sanctuary smelling faintly
of old ladies, cheap perfume,
and wilted flowers dying silently.

just one more week
and i'll have been
god-free for half a decade.
for now,
i grin and bear the tedium
and mourn the tarnished legacy
of the radical rabbi,
a Nazarene who took on an Empire
and died by his convictions.

i daresay,
he'd be rolling in his grave
if he could see
these rich, white
Presbyterians sullying
his good name—
provided, of course,
he'd not so famously
vacated the premises.

this is not a dialogue.
tug the cotton
out of your ears.
free speech
is the banner
fascists wave
to propagate
their hate, hissing
with forked tongues,
spitting vitriolic venom.

speak in a language
they cannot fail
to comprehend:
kick a racist
in the teeth.
*******,
**** ****.
no pasaran!
they shall not pass.
we won't go meekly
into that dark night.

my day  
begins
at 3:00am
with hip-hop
thundering,
rain splattering
my window pane.
the witching hour:
my own, private
Galgotha. i forsook
god, now i'm ******
to hum the dirge
of doom, hushed
and out of tune.

this week in the news,
Sean Spicer swore
****** didn't gas
the Jews. apparently,
the irony of Passover
was lost on the fool.
if Pepsi truly held the key
to ending police
brutality, i'd be the first
to shake the Invisible Hand,
but that spectral fist
is too busy choking
the life out of refugees
to make time for a paltry
teacher like me.

as gas prices
sky-rocketed
and approval ratings
plummeted,
the *******
of all bombs
fell in Afghanistan
while tomahawk missiles
pummeled Syria
and predator drones
zoomed over
Yemen and Pakistan.

where do we stand, hands
stained red with the blood
of those we've martyred?
will we idly abide
an Empire crucifying
its imaginary enemy
on this insane crusade
of endless war?
our silent compliance
rings louder than the hammer
nailing our victims' limbs
to the cross of our indifference.

if there's one thing
i know for sure,
it's that art
makes this whole *******
joke a bit more bearable.
but how could we portend
to outlast this tragedy
when even ****.
and the Last Jedi
are only temporary reprieves
from suffering perpetually?

what's so good
about this Friday
anyway?

there's a shade of you
in everyone i meet.
a faint flicker,
like sunbeams refracting
on the ocean's surface,
forcing me to squint
at a hazy horizon.

you keep time
with my shadow,
always hiding
from the light.
your absence
weighs like a void,
a gravity-gobbling
vacuum siphoning
energy, leading me
inexorably toward entropy.

you are a dæmon, ancient
as the cosmos,
sturdy as oak.
a familiar, lingering
like a musk upon
my garments.
a spirit, resplendent
if, albeit, a bit
impatient.
a ghost, haunting
me close as i slowly trudge
through the sludge of psychosis.

so, errant i remain
until you deign once more
to speak my name
into the ether.
on that day,
i assure you,
i will be true—
come what may—
forever and always.

late at night,
i lie awake,
and trace the lines
of moonlight flickering
through the blinds,
falling like razor-blades
severing arteries.
the shades of gray
whisper solemnly
of death
and peace.

4:00am passes
without event.
i wonder absently
what life might
be like if i felt
nothing at all.

numb
to the world
i drag behind me,
a planet wrapped
in chains wrought
by apathy and a lack
of imagination.

why
do i
so desperately
crave to save
a planet
that seems
perfectly content
to dig
an early grave?

we'd all
assumed she'd
choke
at the last minute.

boy,
were we
fooled.

she
fought tooth and nail,
chewed through the wires
we used to hold her back.

we placed bets
on when she'd give up.
seventy-five cents
on the dollar.

and what
were we
expecting?

she
swept the house,
walked home a queen,
and shared her wealth.

we thought
she was a girl
disguised
as a monster.

but who
were we
kidding?

she
was a monster
disguised
as a girl.