Suicide of Mother Earth
Burning burning burning—skyscraper trees
ablaze on holy west coast line, the fathers
of all my end of continent dreams
World is vomiting all over itself, glum catastrophes
cutting at my eyeballs red and watering in chemical
morning mist, the creek running thru my childhood
backyard will become a sea—the fat groundhog
eating at my summer garden’ll need to shave his winter coat
and chipmunks’ll eat styrofoam peanuts from now on
Empty northern lilac fields where horses prance
will become Mojave, Mojave will sink into coffins
of atomic craters cursed by our fingertips
Wild green trees’ll snap like legs and the bark
will melt into sludge—the green in my days
will melt into grey, an eternal February lay ahead
Five oceans will turn brown as torched dirt, brown
as sewage flowing beneath my feet, brown as brown
can be—the shit stains will wipe out the rest of
our holy Amazonian kingdoms if we don’t do it first
This trembling hectic fervor in my chest will become
the unbearable heat of all summer nights, the walls
of my room will collapse to the angry tide—I’ll float
because I’ve floated in the emptiness long enough
The plastic pulsing in my veins will burst thru my skin
and I’ll bloom water bottle children—bury me, sew me
into roots of some weeping Pennsylvanian tree before
it all happens, this nuclear sprint to death
Swimming pools of oil will bleed and become jet black
lakes, take the boat out for a spin on that—the refineries
are all exploding anyway, orange ponds in valleys
where the coal grew will all make sense in this ashy glow,
find me beneath scarred crust with the roots
And what’s left of glaciers in purest Arctic stretches
will melt and flood yr backyards eventually—spring
fertilizer’ll no longer be needed, go grab a life jacket
and watch mighty polar bears turn into raccoons
scavenging for trash because the seals left for Mars
The night sky will flood too—the stars’ll find
other worlds to shine like midnight angels over
Barren black cosmos will be our only escape,
but the fuel for spaceship I ordered online is leaking
into my morning cereal and night has never ended,
muggy grime of smog engulfing me from the chest up
The clothes you bought last year and wore once
are becoming mountains in my oceans—vacation
prices are getting out of hand when I drive my umbrella
into mucky fabric plastic sandless beaches and watch
the rest of the coral reefs get bleached, there’s volcanoes
of trash piling higher than even Everest could ever imagine
My eyes will turn grey because that’s all there’ll be
to see, my bones will become plastic, my bones will float
the oil seas—nothing these days lasts anyway, so why
should we? Why should she, Mother Earth, the poorest
mother of all—who gave us everything and all we give
back is hell and glimpses of her own miserable suicide
