All empires, when they are dying, worship the idol of war. War will save the empire. War will resurrect past glory. War will teach an unruly world to obey.
Carry your light out into the shitstorm,
Joan Baez writes, and what a swirl of turds
it is.
And madness chooses out my voice again,
Again. I am the chosen no hand saves…
I called my friend, the journalist, right after
The vote was known. “You don’t understand.”
He told me, “This is reporter’s gold”—with laughter
To show contempt of the clown and his band
Of misfits and morons
Sign up for the Zoom book launch on Tuesday, January 13, 2026, (8 pm EST). We’ll be reading from James Baldwin Smoking a Cigarette.
Now it all makes sense:
the roots of the cypress tree
to hold the boy’s sorrow in place
Bodies, Roles, and Futures at Risk
Starlight on the hill: the fields shine white and clear.
Up there, you couldn’t miss the thieves. Down here, in these ravines,
the vineyard is all darkness.
For the anniversary of the Jan. 6 riot that almost toppled democracy (more quickly than now), the hacks and crackpots in power have concocted a deranged revisionist history.
I am sick of writing this poem
but bring the boy. his new name
his same old body. ordinary, black
dead thing. bring him & we will mourn
In my dream, the poor people, on the contrary, many of who are Korean, have lost everything, all of their children. They have had no warning.
My hands have morphed into my mother’s; arthritic knuckles, thin skin, and yesterday I
discovered her Mah Jong set dumped in a guest closet
As much as 87% of the world’s wetlands have been lost over the past 300 years, with much of this loss happening after 1900, despite their value to the human population.
Tranquil, patient,
they brushed against each other
until, soon enough, they ambled
with their mermaid tails toward the dock