Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

goddess, fury, and prestige

Poetry

i walked through a clearing

and found an ancestor there

he raised an eyebrow at me

then went back to his meal

he was eating fruits and nuts

and his plan for the day was to vibe

i had a small cardboard container

filled with deep fried dead birds

i got for cheap from a multinational corporation

my plan for the day was ‘survive’

a cloud came overhead

it built into a gray tower and rumbled

and he said, ‘the goddess is ready to cry’

i sat back and smirked,

then explained something called

cloud condensation nuclei

he furrowed his brow

and ground an almond between what teeth he had left

then he smiled through the gaps

and explained the value of now

i said ‘i know, i know’

then bit deep into the dopamine

and looked away from he and the goddess both

to check the notifications on my apps

someone tagged me in a meme

and someone else shared one of my posts

everything was as good as it seemed

and neither me nor this fellow were host

when the ocean fell on our heads

i began a poem that said ‘we are dead’

when i asked what he thought

he had already died

with a look on his face

that seemed satisfied

i reflected on a journey uneven

and wondered what was left to believe in

my friends gathered and tried

to get the world on a leash

while the goddess wept

with furious prestige

i told myself and the others

feel no sorrow, at least we tried

but as the water reached my neck

i wondered

if i should’ve just vibed

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Michael Guevarra

Michael Guevarra

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Bay Area writer, sociologist, and feral poet // editor of The Anticapital