Gods&Radicals—A Site of Beautiful Resistance.

Some Call Dream

The winds shift, the clouds part,

a migratory bird, I fly over a land some

call dream, a land without walls.

The jaguar, the snake, the bee, peccary, wolf,

ocelot and pygmy owl, checkerspot

and monarch butterfly, hedgehog cactus,

toad, bighorn and jaguarondi assemble

wandering, growing where they will.

No understanding of borders here,

no knowledge as we fly from Alaska to the valley

of Mexico, Yucatan to Florida and out

to California breathing with the winds

riding the storm fronts that don’t ever

acknowledge the projected wound of wall.

Far below some boys gather

hacking apart a large turtle,

a cruel sport (and turtles all the way).

Driven by a stoked hatred

of nature vexed, poked and mutilated

a rage against the land—

it’s ultimately self-hatred

awash in America’s long desire

to replace itself with the virtual,

a new heaven where the ‘sins’ of the

puritan flesh could be exorcised,

left behind in wrathful download.

Raging against the wilderness,

wound forgotten in self-medicated

shopping nation of endless malls, all haunted,

suburban badlands where murderous police

patrol and border guards prey

on those not admitted through the gates.

The Puritans back in zombie drag wrestle,

outside the gates of ‘the community’,

the slave traders but it’s all staged, it

doesn’t matter who comes out on top.

But a storm rides in, a superstorm,

The winds shift, the clouds part

on the assembly of the living

we can assemble this land too.


Writer, poet, Celtic polytheist, fili, displaced San Franciscan, liminal dweller, autonomist.