Daily Archives: August 26, 2021

The Colony As Compost (Yes)

In every delusion is sown
a bit of truth, yes,

a weed that explodes 
cell by cell into a tree
full of inedible fruit, yes,

as the days become misshapen, more dark bulge
than light stream, yes,

as we are deafened by long haunted voices
of those brought to ground by others impressed
by different delusions, yes, 

this is the nature of the new world,
the nature of bastard settler dreaming, yes,

blown out through veins of cold blood,
nuggets of truth run through a fuzz pedal,
a song drawn from disturbance operas, yes,

this is how we learn,
this is how we begin a new education, yes,

if we are to be grown whole from the land,
if we are to be open as we grow toward the sun,
new shoots shooting up and up and here we are, yes,

everything we are grown from has rotted into food
and everything we need is rising from our shame, yes.


It’s Only Wednesday the Fuck

“Wait, it’s only Wednesday. The fuck?”  — MED

A friend of mine posts on Twitter
their dismay at the week crawling slowly by

with a single line, 
“Wait, it’s only Wednesday. The fuck?” 

that seems somehow to add a title,
an honorific, to the dread weekday name.

I develop in my head the image of a tapestry,
a medieval rendering of the cheap and elegant

Wednesday The Fuck, Ruler of
The Slow Lands, Head of The Legion

of Digruntlement, riding a bony white mare
through their domain as we peasants kneel and mutter.

Let’s face it: Wednesday IS a fuck. Too far from
last weekend and also too far from the next.

All Wednesdays ARE fucks. They sit there
on calendars waiting to be filled with Tasks

and Events that will keep us miserable
till we can boot scoot on down past Thursday,

get moshing on Friday, rave on through
till Sunday afternoon and the next go round.

Monday bears all our moaning while patting us on the shoulder
all day; it remembers our recent joy.

Tuesday mainly hurts us by taunting us about 
what’s coming tomorrow right up to the moment when

Wednesday the Fuck shall ride again at the head of
columns of bland, deadly, We-Got-Shit-To-Do soldiers,

seeking conscripts to those miserable ranks.
Don’t do it, I say to my friend. Don’t fall under

the fucking spell of Wednesday the Fuck
and become old and bitter about time;

just keep on getting through it. Time is as arbitrary
as — well, as Fuck. If Wednesday needs to be overthrown,

we are the only ones who can do it.
Let’s plot the revolution right here, right now,  

and start with Wednesday, which can’t even spell its own name 
without adding extra weight in the middle — the fuck?