Camelot Beach / Ken Brennan
We live in coils not just cycles/another dimension
stretches our intentions into sentences replenished
by moments of highs and lows in the spectrum of
acceptance/moving away from ignorance and
towards informance/only to find another
question/sequestered once by silence now the
voice rising/growing up like Ivy vines/ reaching for
the light of life, the life of light/ soaking in
formation grasping at salvation bastion of occasion
colonial invasion terraformed creation.
Making water
Ways
Turning valleys into lakeas/tearing down old
realestate/if cultural human heritage is not
respected, natural heritage doesn't stand a
chance/as expected/in a speciesist society where
humans hold the food chain in our
hands/animals/bound by necks/shackled
ankles/natural spaces surrounded by roads/filling
in the quarries and calling them wetlands,
presenting the fowler toad like someone mean to
protect them/when they just slipped through the
cracks/between the machines/stayed in the clay
pits/unseen/but now right across the street/on
Cement Road, where the Great Blue Heron once
stayed to breed, and live, and eat, now the trees
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