for Colombia

Our hundred year tree is dying

but one of those - a lie

bugs, unknown, umber, tiny

weaving residue they deal in

waxing parasitic.

Since the world is a stage

how could I have

looked into your face

without being blinded by the light,

met a stranger without

bash ful musings?

Did you notice it’s all burning down?

we’re losing eyes in the streets

buying lies wrapped in bacon I see

grease on the leaves.

If there’s no more gauze I’m fine

bleeding out as long as

the cameras are on.

Vermillion morning

washing boulevards all afternoon

for evening carnations.

The last saints among us

sing and whistle outside

free forgetting the weight

of chains,

buy juice and hygienic matter,

look for lost boys in the city,

shine a telescope at the full moon

glimpse migrants in flight a-wing

compassionate not indifferent.

My hundred year tree is shaky in its

pot one of those - a lie

unstable, fluctuating, wilting in direct sun

Houseplant suicide is easier

first chartreuse breaking truce

you care for me I’ll care

for you it’s just breaking

off crumbling I’ve

kicked you to the back patio

so the others don’t catch any ideas.

Did you notice it’s all speeding up?

factory baby in the cyber truck

the Beats prepared me for atomic dynamo

not this long-form charring,

one piece at a time all at once

aphids drowning kitchen sink

they didn’t even package this civil war

as “same great taste, new look”

It doesn’t matter what happened or didn’t

freight train still goes fast

Catholics walk silent passed dead palm on

willdow sin will you

shoot good? photos

bad? rubber bullets

I became a fascist because

I love pointing fingers

became a Buddhist because

I hate feeling wrong

died a gory death

for the world wide web

and wrote this poem

for Colombia.