A poem for Independence Day
The world is on fire
Your last text read
Nails on a mortgaged cross
Have grown rusty with rage.
Bombs are served over easy
Onto digitalized screams.
And I am on ice
Wading through rhubarb.
Nightmares are no longer
A frayed mathematical problem.
Crows are cawing madness
Across a boiling sea bed.
The moon lost an eye kissing
A bruised sun’s shadows
I have a sharp knife
And a bushel of rhubarb.
Reports across the wire tell of a resurrected dead head
Playing to clones through an optical stream.
A friend riots in London now she has read the exit ballot
And I am washing rhubarb
In a galvanized sink.
28 days of yoga has resulted in a twelve pack of Guinness
The magnetic letters on the fridge have misspelled what for?
Some say the Devil is weeping
At the thought of America’s next president
While the neutral ground is home sick
Swallowing a caravan of drunk cops.
Church steeples have grown hairy legs
And escaped through Alice’s looking glass
And with a spoonful of borrowed honey
I am boiling rhubarb.
The organic fireworks are soggy
After skinny dipping in no man’s land
The Great Wall of China has been purchased
By a cattle rancher in Texas
The last Syrian refuges have been given tickets
One way to Pluto
And I am straining rhubarb
Through a clogged up sieve.
My neighbor’s writing grants
To prop up his diabetic limbs
The hot dogs on the grill have charred into
A choir of bleating frogs
Independence Day was renamed itself
Dependence for All
Thankfully the rhubarb is in the freezer
And the dog has been fed
Not much else has happened since I last read your text
The world is on fire
At least I think that is what you meant.
