News Poems

Clement. Inclement. Snowstorm descending. Now you're in it. Now you're intending to spin your story. That same one you tell whenever it's cold. Hell frozen over in all its glory, and you want to tell it. Never gets old. Your story always goes something like this: “It's cold ∴ Global warming does not exist. Scientists sure are going to be pissed. Ha, it's cold. It was all just a myth!” Don't say it this time. Please just go inside. Avoid deep breaths. Minimize talking. Please don't stand in the middle of the street, telling your story to all that you meet. Please go inside. Go warm up. Like the globe. Read about climate change while there's still hope. Nope? Well, then I see what you mean. Stay outside. Turn blue. We'll find you next spring, still frozen story. One with everything.

You have lost something, something in your gut. You are in a rut. You know what I mean. Allow me to aid in this time of need. What I have always made will set you free. Seriously, you can have it. No bullshit. What's mine is yours, slipping between backdoors.

I invoke the Universal sound Ante up Release the pain and darkness of delusion Small blind Removing all obstacles Big blind Paving the way for compassion and enlightenment Call I am that I am All-in I am that.

We slice time so fine Pretend that we find Some present wisdom Some new rhythm Always the moment Live in the moment moment then moment Nothing else exists Past is the past is Moments all it is If you believe that I want this moment To overwhelm you Stay in that moment. Time will pass you by

Einstein was wrong wrong. So wrong. Hundred thousand years ago, My people made the best bomb And they knew all. It is so. Start to read the Ancient texts And you will see and believe My ancestors were the best of gods who never ate beef. Airplanes plus stem cell research Plus gravitational waves All came from their divine forge. Einstein? Newton? They were knaves. We've already made great progress The best is yet to come. All us. But first, let me stress What my ancestors have done.

On the far side of the moon Freed from the view of Earth. We rove, as the heavens attune To our presence, to our birth. It's been waiting: Two weeks of night then Two weeks of light then all over again. It's been creating: In the quiet space so long On once hidden face so long where we might belong. It's been vacillating: Within its crater back and forth Without translator back and forth... Have we proved our worth? On the far side of the moon We will know, all too soon.