I woke up breathing
and stood up laughing,
war zone not withstanding…
We go to ground as winds chafe and howl,
cyclones testing the anchors,
the momentum of exclusion,
the power in the spin.
From the water hole we slide
into a misty wood green dark
translucent canopy above a glowing path.
The named ones lead, the younger follow.
Stories are told.
Time is reeled in for review.
The stories fill our hearts with hope
to endure this process,
this momentary affliction,
as our meme-osaurs devour one another
waiting for the next asteroid.
Wide-eyed ground surfers will spy
another wave of humus heading this way.
The bones of prior pirates will be flung into the sky.
An unwinding, befuddled, slouching, juggernaut
of galumphing brobdingnagians
playing Jesus like a wild card,
selling identity to the appetite of the moment.
Sophi says, “Expect to be noticed.
As the season’s waning daylight reveals the evergreens,
expect to be noticed.
And protect your aboxal thinking
from looking too naily in the land of hammers.”