Mornings
Clouds today, read about the dying oceans
Canada is a country where everyone is underwater
a nation of tippy toed pool waders
struggling to keep their noses above the water line
Clouds still looming, far away from here
the North is on fire, media is worried about finances
all I can think about is the poor dead animals
charred bodies of the only good things in this country
clouds chasing clouds, almost no one here
was born here, and every new arrival is a colonizer
this country is a fraying rope, over a pit of vipers
coffee is still coffee, at least for now
rain has started, umbrellas like a garden
of black dahlias, under each a life being lived
free will in a cage, binary options, gravity
rests on some like a feather, on others a stone
clouds opened, what point does rain serve in a city
nothing of value grows here, water wasted on cement
the life blood of the planet needed elsewhere
sometimes I wonder about the creators of the universe
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crowds of clouds, and we could die today
our lives swept off of the stage, what comes after
mornings and my head hurts thinking of life
that very strange phenomenon here, just here
on mars there are no clouds, or are there
are there children working in factories
their free will had them born into poverty
when they are no longer cog sized
their Fagans, their slave masters, humans of course
will toss them out a window, the one without the suicide nets
once in the air the ties to their former owner will evaporate
if they survive the fall or die on the ground, is up to the gods
those fuckers up there in the clouds
or, in the lower ones created by bombs
or forest fires, or the collective last breath
as children’s souls, leave bodies, dead on the ground
Canada has the fires, we have the new slaves
older, imported, given the jobs our teens used to have
the children are safe, for a time, but not forever
Canada is on the descent slope towards barbarianism
clouds are clearing, the sun, a friend turned cold
appears, the umbrellas vanish, sunscreen applied
soon we will all just wrap ourselves in plastics
asphyxiate to death in our shells as the clouds reappear
