Worldbuilding

Big Baby Blue Ball

Hurtling through space

At thirty kilometers per second.

This existence is bigger than our single threaded orbits.

We outline wide-embracing blankets

 With atomic needles and think we know the flights of those

Behind us, beside us, before us even though the flight

Attendants have yet to give their mandatory spiels

On what to do in the event of a water landing.

We reach for the sick bag to spew our souls into

And find that there is no soul coming up our throats,

There’s nothing deep down to dig for.

It’s actually lagging behind at thirty thousand feet in the air.

We’re all feigning transcendence like stupid ducks with faux flippers

Throttling against Castaway Currents,

Crusading for holy wedding cake decorations,

Symmetrical

In twin tux top black tie ala bond,

Though we don’t talk about bond

Or his women in today’s society.

Get that s**t out of here,

We don’t talk about them.

We don’t talk about Native peoples either

Unless we need an Uber to the casino in Yakama.

 

We are afraid.

We think 2017 will kill us

For the 17th time.

We live like life after death

Is actually death after death.

Paternal platitudes penetrate against our perceptions

Until they fade out of view completely

Into the bleached earth where they are buried

Where they were buried

Before they were moved

To free up space for fresh

Dead necrophytes.

The stones are the same though

They were moved as well,

They scream into their granite pillows

Like institutionalized golems.

We are being educated about the world,

We are not being educated by the world.

Social Media caters to 3rd grade reading leveled

Mocking birds.

CHOOSE LOVE OVER HATE.

HATE THE RACISTS.

HATE THE XENOPHOBES.

HATE THE NATIONALISTS.

HATE THE CAPITALISTS.

HATE THE SOCIALISTS.

HATE THE KILLERS OF SMALL CHILDREN.

HATE THE KILLERS OF LARGE CHILDREN.

HATE THE HURT

HATE THE HURT THAT HURT

HATE THE HURT THAT HURT THAT HURT

HATE THE GODS.

HATE THE MAN.

HATE THE LAND.

HATE THE PARKS

HATE THE CHAINLINKS

HATE THE BEARS

AND THE BEES.

HATE THE BUMS ON THE STREETS,

BUT YOU CAN LOVE THE TREES.

HATE THE SAND IN YOUR SHOES.

HATE YOUR SHOES IN THE SAND.

HATE THE NEWSPRINTS

HATE THE OLDPRINTS

HATE THE FOOTPRINTS

HATE THE SMALLPRINTS

HATE THE STICKY NOTES

YOU WRITE TO YOURSELF

AND PRETEND TO FORGET ABOUT

BECAUSE YOU NEED A LOVE

THAT WILL NEVER LOVE YOU

BACK.

HATE YOURSELF.

AND FINALLY HATE HATE,

 

We need fewer lessons

And more recesses.

We need fewer hackneyed memes

And more part time hacksaws.

We need fewer libraries full of books

We pretend we are too stupid to read.

We need fewer men women and children

Telling us what to do, what to think, and what to feel.

We need fewer days on the calendar that pass

Like ignored pets.

We need to relocate our collective shoulders

We do not need the epidural.

We need keystrokes, good jives, and an open window

If we are going create

The world. 

Reviews

[Cat]

Love the use of vocabulary to intensify the emotion conveyed in this piece. Lovely piece indeed :) 100/100