Corrugated Eyes 2017

Where once a landscape bore fruit of the earth,
the mind,
one's heart,
now drifts only the threat of apocalyptic smoke
winding through the future’s early morning mist.

How soon…

Will desperation continue to shiver and cry to afford the sun
once felt as life’s friend,
now only valued as shadows of panic
through tiny windows cut askew
in boxes of survival.

Yes…

Box people do exist.

Below high-rise strongholds,
undulating waves of heat
imprison the downtrodden,
their street savvy drowning in a sea of sweat,
watching hope continue to drip into flotation
toward but another whirlpool tomorrow.

How indifferent power treats its charge,
once equal by nature,
now quashed beneath control’s sole and heel,
once foils of goodness and protection,
now but dust motes of the past
becoming more distant.

It is not far off,
this once fantasized science fiction becoming real.

For dung beetles
must eat,
and carcasses must smoke,
lest the calamity of man
be seen as avoidable.

Yet…

Certain dreams continue
inside a single cell survival,
where boxes provide but scant protection for
their corrugated eyes.