“beasts”

Kristen Gallagher

who says I eat human flesh

well, okay

but I can live on blood donations

and the recently dead

or even just bones

we can work this out

+

swamp gator

grunts out brainstem

and finds

swamp grace

in that the devil

turns out to be

merely Cute Yoda

kicked out of a cloud

just like Milton said

+

I’d be happy

to finally fly again

for eco-poetry but

as eco-losers

we stay home

the bobcat family

in the backyard

has decided not to kill us

they see

we already grieve

pausing from a squirrel hunt

they look up at us

then hang their heads

+

all along the development

a single, spotty row of trees

dares the eye to a corridor

confused animals enter

share the feeder

we can’t keep up —

birds bathe and nest

in the cracks of our house

foxes give birth in the alley

deer wander in stunned

groundhogs control the shed

there is nowhere left

between our breathing mouths

and stinkbugs filling the bedroom

+

the red crabs need a wire bridge

the deer need a dank wood

the turtles need total darkness

the seeds need strong winds

the catbirds need a hedgerow

the anteaters need an underpass

cars should become frog nests

eagles are intellects of the gorge

+

for ppl who like

going back to work

this slideshow has a giant circle

that says INCELS

with a smaller circle

completely inside it

that says JOBCELS

these times need a whole new language

+

sad jobcels –

job, their only horizon

while you have a home

dreary as it is

leaky as it is

cheap cardboard contemporary

as it is

& weary as it makes you & everyone

still, they charge you

everything you make

to not sleep outside

with the wet ducks

+

I was in a flow state

of being under stress

try faking it, said Brian Eno

but I already tried that, Brian

the museum of happiness

with its colonial era home

on a hillside

and a giant flag that says

COFFEE and points to

the gas station next door

where they sell CBD gummies

cuz marijuana is illegal here

but it gives the gasoline a

hippie vibe

then over the crumbling bridges

we ride

knowing always

this could be our last bridge

will it be weary infrastructure?

domestic terrorists?

red dye #4?

we alternate between

trying not to think about it,

talking about it intensely,

and listening to The Kinks

Lola vs. Powerman

+

in the remembrance place

I find myself recalling

“the land

is submissive

but holds

every gesture”

who said it

don’t ask

the woods now

a deteriorating image

sleep well

the world of appearances

is only tiny holes of light

fighting a mutable past

becoming objects

the shadow out from under

+

like a dog in a play

the part I was cast

was true method acting

my most authentic self

a museum exile of

people just like me

in the closed wing

of the gallery

repeatedly performing

formally through a format

a serious game

though nothing I write

can bring to you

the collusion

between the sea and traffic

hidden forces shake

the thick, lush, wet

between everything

and a backfire pow!

plan to leave

an offering to the land

knowing a squirrel

or a fox will eat it