They would dub his the Golden Age
which he'd predicted and molded
but didn't contemplate.
Even gods can’t quite imagine their ends.
Even now, as usual, I can't help but re-write:
They would dub his age Golden / as he'd predicted and molded / but didn't see whole...
Hmmmm.
/ but never saw whole
/ but didn't fathom...?
Good afternoon.
I'm pretty happy that Juked make a space for this poem which probably has a very limited audience....
When summer approaches, adjunct teachers worry about money
ii
imagine this (or at least consider) I’m Clare of Assisi & I’ve got a little convent
in 1227 so petitioning Greg 9 (pope) for “the one thing that is necessary”:
privilege of a possession-free world
pope’s opposed since such a world is bad for consumer capitalism kidding!
fears empty-bellied women doing good will upset soup carts then there’s Francis
already in Assisi
famed for his hunger games
My "poem" mixes a little #solastalgia (distress caused by degradation of one’s environment) into a lesson plan on strip vs. deep mining designed for Kentucky 3rd-graders refusejournal.com/solastalgia/
The whole Refuse journal is fab-thanks @marginatalia Natalia Smirnov who writes:
Is the Refusal Turn something different than the previous turns, something that refuses to pay tribute to the canon and beat its many dead horses? Could this turn, rather than branching fractally off of the original DNA, instead turn on itself, begin to eat and metabolize and decompose its own material, like a cancer, an ouroboros, an auto-cannibal?
