And what now of dreaming?
We’ve failed the planet has published our failures.
Our crimes are perpetual methane
and sweltering, arrogant and endless—
poor fucks we are, breathing mindlessly
as the marsh grass floods,
and here comes the supermoon again,
like it’s so special.
Weak and disordered become the governments,
disquiet rules us now.
Onward, I thought,
and so we were obscured.
The snow goes to the gallows
of a warm grass and what survives?
Seasons grow immodest,
the bullet sun does parch
and drive us migratory
in search of new and fertile fields.
The long drought makes blaze the plankton
makes smoke the oceans
and insincere the governments—
a demise indelicate.
We’re in a deep jelly now
no cause for applause
but try a little clemency
my body is warm today, and yours,
we have this small span of time
and in this way we’re millionaires.
Bright colors we make when pressed, see?
Basta! dawdling on the edge again that’s me.
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From Soft Targets. Used with permission of Copper Canyon Press. Copyright © 2019 by Deborah Landau.
