OIL SPILL this one goes out to the cloned mammoths and to secrets beneath the ice to the unearthed buddhist temples and allied boats fossilized in low tide to ancient relics found in the scorched Yangtze and the beat poetry in my spam folder generated by machines in the Balkans generated by machines in tunnels below Biscayne Boulevard to the wildfire lightning striking twice in the heartland to walkie-talkie codenames broadcast on short range from whirlybirds and big rigs backsliding from base camps and basements and bass amps young anarchists and to power grids we share remarkable pain in your persistence breathing the unexplained decimals I haven’t painted in months my brushes lay scattered blank canvas a song for the Atlantic rainbows vivid in black mirrors a telepathic persuasion succumbing to perfect rhythm to the dim-lit galleries of the avant-garde where tradition withers like cash crops in record heat the drive-thru sign melted by sunlight in the trending photograph on the spectrum like I’m visible light shining through the birdcage of an African gray roaming shape-shifting terrain I haven’t spoken in months let alone painted an abstraction or manifesto an abyss or a mantra you salt the wound sit at the keyboard and bleed a profane love black gold in the water this one goes out to the unrooted and uprooted leaning ladders on the border wall roaming through flatlands and dust in a world full of rain my angel where have you been? I am in your rising house pouring saltwater on the breadbasket I am full lotus in your cone of uncertainty the endangered species is on the guestlist for the movable feast perched on an inclined ice floe in tropical breeze as the risk index rises receiving robocalls from paradise I’m sorry can you hear me now? I have been counting every grain of sand taking metaphors literally the sea is a surrealist poem ink and foam and seagrass clocks and anchorlines a shattered hourglass on every coast a vampire squid, a pendulum white squalls turn pupil-black from graveyard earth darkening the well gilding lilies in midnight oil this one goes out to dune-born hatchlings chasing moonlight to fallen drones in the red sea masked men tightrope walking on supply chains to sunken pyramids and the planes that evanesced like cowboys into the drink if nothing else please feed the strays when we have vanished please look closely as the palm trees shake in cold breeze somehow hold the sunlight somehow describe the toned muscles of the acrobat flirting with disaster tell my broker not to hedge for collapse please call my brother I don’t have any language left to pluck fruit from the vine I have seen the day laborers dig for gold and the fallen owlet take flight the autocrat strung from his ankles specific earth from specific states of mind brass knuckles, punching numbers punching clocks we will miss the lost aesthetic of smoking in long cars we will miss the old-time spirit of only partial automation and the clear blue of new days pop art dreams of interstellar luxury the dire wolf, the buffalo the anti-war movement, the Colorado river electric guitars and books on paper this one goes out to the lonesome whale singing frequencies of alienation to the dream girl smiling in the mugshot the ideal husband frowning at his body in the mirror mass graves and mudslides I will build you a pipeline through stolen land I will move the earth at your convenience as I am looking out at the black sky and the black road and the black water and the black cars with black windows and black steel pumping black oil and black boots on bomb black rubble and then red poppies fresh from the frontlines like a New York City silkscreen flood the black market blue, astride a white horse from the black sea region we drill tectonic and it flows from bottom to top David met Goliath when he was slinging rock this one goes out to you, chopping carrots with a 1000 pixel stare we haven’t partied in months there’s dust on the sequins this one goes out to flyboys cruising bombers over the half-time show and lithium mines over fertile crescents and food deserts low watermarks and all-time highs over heavier traffic than usual on hot tar and surplus grain a pilgrimage of progress we imagine the weary traveler knocking at the gate on a global scale if you’re cold they’re cold in our dark days, solar winds and carbon runoff abolish ice from the maritime tundras scuttle, sublimate someday we will be fossils that make our children work faster hands around the maypole around the meteorite around the oil well divining futures in the swirls it draws on concrete