Lacus Odii (Lake of Hate)

Look—

              you can be dutiful

vote, vaccinate, recycle.

None of that matters

when some thundering rich man

(the foolish build upon the sand)

can tide in and sweep away

all our incremental effort,

              as unbeholden

              as an act of god.

Where to stand in everlasting extreme

hurricane season? Armored car thunder

storm clouds of tear gas, bullet

hail, waves of state violence

crumbling seashell foundations

sand dollars and crushed bones

until a divided house cracks in half

and sinks into the sullen tarn.

Love will tear asunder,

hate will do you one better.

The policies that create police

are the same that melt polar ice.

No amount of private security

will save beachfront property

from the reality of the ocean

and all the law enforcement

in the world cannot dam our hate

              of the house that cash built.

Look—

              we can torch the police

              they can stand on our necks.

This is what matters:

It only takes an increase in pressure

or heat to boil our air. Can't breathe

under the weight of the world.

Injustice requires a witness

or else, did it ever even happen?

The wise man builds his house

              upon the stone

but the angered set theirs

              on moonrock

where nothing has changed

in four billion years. Look—

a fistful of moonlight passes

perfectly through the precinct window.

              Up there, at least,

is no carbon and no atmosphere

to release it in, no money

and no man for it to poison,

and no police to do their murder

                                           yet.