Aquatic Genocide

I
Hope is a thing with feathers
Weary, starved
The halo transparent
Constricting noose
Grips like chipped finger nails
The casings of sin
Atrocities committed
Infest like hungry rodents
the beautifully feminine mind
A grip like thumb and forefinger
Against the gullet of the queen
She never got to choose to drink the cool aid
She never got the option
To not be poisoned by her children
The children never gave her one.
II
The cracking sun damaged bones
The crumbling beachfront skull
That held
gut wrenching reactions
To hungry eyed needles and pricks
Reactions
So like our own
The consumer
The infant clenching skipping stone
Carelessly tossing
The rock prancing
Like Jesus across the water
Dropping into the sea
Like a round between the eyes
Rippling into
Deforestation
Plasticizers
Environmental degradation
The cause of death
For passive cadaver
Heat searing blade
Oozing
Oozing
Oozing
Stomach contents
Lighters
Plastic northern star specs
Pointing to malnutrition
And starvation

If Seaguls could Pray they’d Pray for an end with the junk drawer contents of their stomachs served to hungry mouths on a Silver platter.

Plugged
brought to the edge
the only release
half gallon vodka
and motel matches
regurgitated
soldering iron stomach acid
stomach lining in the sand
third degree burns
fuse the throat
simmer down
nobody can hear you speak
no one to sit, so you can stand
sealed envelope
always yearning
through constant hunger pains
but to reach for the forbidden fruit
to satisfy the needs
is to swallow the burning cross
that is the essence of creation
Someone poisoned the water hole
And the only thing that kills worse than DDT
Dissolving into nonconsentual skin
Is dehydration

PLASTIC milk jugs, eating utensils, bags, coffee lids, coffee cup lining, packaging, bubble wrap, boys, girls, men, water bottles, soda bottles, shampoo bottles, shelving units, organizers, folders, binders, mechanical pencils, eye balls, balls, dildos, condoms, medical supplies, heroine needles,

All of the ways they can’t say death
The contents of their coffin
Keep consumerism convenient
Certainly we can’t be part of the problem
We fret about rising waters,
But by the time we’re drowning
We’ll be walking on plastic continents
And they’ll be fossilized in polyurethane
Photodegrading in just a few more centuries
Our White America Gyre Empire
We’ll look into the long faces
Of these foreign creatures
Paving our reflective countries
And Blame the generation before
As smog rises into the air
From the plastic burning in our fire places
It was their fault.
How could they be so stupid?
It was their entire fault.
When they realize that life
Can’t grow from a plastic corpse
They’ll know
Some sins can’t be repented for
They’ll know it
When their choking on the same pieces of plastic
That kills us.

White Christmas

The free flowing snowflakes
Hold out your tongue
But it doesn’t melt
It’s hard like stone
Hard like ice
Dip in dots
In another world
Melting in the stomach
But the sweets never tasted
So sour
Green gills
A scaled snow flake
Shimmering, reflecting back the sun
Catching the eye of soaring predator
Desperately awaiting the kill
Dropping into the ocean
Like a flash of lightening
And the snow melts on its tongue
And Soon after
Roaming beaches
Of glass shards, and starbuck lids

This
Seemingly invincible predator
Lye’s a shell among the muscles
The corpses
Ammunition
In chemical warfare
How long will it be
Before poison runs freely in our blood?
And we’re the ones choking on plastic pellets
And bathing in DDT

A Pretty Piece of Plastic

All I wanted to do was shop
Consume the objects in my life,
That I know
Will make me happiest
Just like the boys starring from across the pool
They tell me I’m beautiful
“Perfection”
Like I’m their baby doll
I tell them this doll’s a collectible,
but was surprised
when on my shoulder
was a tag with a price

I present my problems to the world
reveal the cost
They know anyone willing to pay the time,
the attention
Goes home with a pretty piece of plastic

Cheeks and breasts on display
The showcase of any collectible
I age,
become vintage
an antique with diminishing value
desperately, I reach and grab for my buyer
Trying to steal him into an old investment,
But he hides me under his bed
in the bottom of a box
and leaves to find a new collectible

New and refined
with a soul reminiscent of mine
Naive in a faith in love
A much prettier piece of plastic
Than I.