While The Waymos Burn

While the Waymos burn While the air over LA fills with smoke and teargas and Reaper drones While Israelis hand each other trophies for not murdering Greta Thunberg While Palantir stocks soar and insect populations plummet While the news man writes headlines with increasingly creative phrasing While people with nothing to lose sharpen guillotine blades While the bank boys ask why the robot armies aren’t ready yet While keffiyeh-clad heroes march to Gaza While secret saints work secret miracles in the margins While a sleeping giant stirs within our depths While the flames dance in Buddha’s eyes While my peacock feather heart opens like a fuchsia bud While the tears roll down my cheeks for the dead and the dying While the firelight dances on my walls and the rebels dance in the fire I open my strange palms to our strange future and welcome it Come what may. Reading by Tim Foley.