O beautiful polluted skies
Genetically modified grain
For purple mountains mined for ore
Above the pesticide plains!
We dump our waste on thee
And tear down the woods to grow our food
From sea to oil drenched sea!
I wrote this on a whim while putting together a presentation on the Deepwater Horizon oil spill (2010) for work.
From NPR tumblr
I love glimpsing into other peoples’ lives, especially those to whom I already feel I have a connection. I absolutely love the simple elegance of Dickinson’s room. It is reminiscent of her poems. My room is much closer to William S. Burroughs’ but mine has a softer feel due to the dark wooden floors and lack of wires and pipes.
“Emily Bronte was a cunt!” he shouted.
As he babbled to himself; unapologetic.
For he was once a king of kings
His scepter wielded; a broken cane.
A crown obscured by dirt and grime
Shone through the syphilitic pain.
Replaced by a cheap metallic whore,
His stately daguerreotype fell from grace.
Seduced by a swooning maiden’s tale,
The deadly vapors swirled and paced.
“Coleridge and Blake were faggots!” he screamed.
Stumbling down the street; unapologetic.
My dopamine saturated brain
Imagined a Frost or a Yeats.
You filled my entire screen–
But, I was not even a blip
On the radar.
Words poured from me like a ranting fool;
You spoke once.
It was beautiful.
Swirling in my rattled existence;
Are you still changed?
Moss covered stones
Float lazily in the river,
Lifting their small heads
To take a languid breath.
Puffing forth a frothy spray,
They sink back into still waters.