To the echelons of power, wherever you are/ It is not too late to turn, please
All capitalisms are equal/ But some capitalisms are more equal than others
Wind-blown, sprawling beaches/ strewn with driftwood interwoven with picnic wrappings
At a restaurant/ The sea looking through the window/ In the frame of narrow windows
I say poets feel everything/ The dawn, the dusk, the raging/ Our rebellions, our stories weaved in fear and love
I sit on a boulder that harbours a pregnant explosion;/ unpredictable and total in its perennial extinctive catharsis/
To trip over the roots of a stone/ a mere life/ in broad daylight/
remember how we once took a ride/ towards leafless woodland, you struggling/ to navigate the swelling swamp-roads,/...
Oh Enkidu — lead us lost humans/ Back to those ancient forests
Cinder by shoreline, none could but some can. Echoing a ceaseless arrival, castaways deliriously repeat: shallows resurface!