Climate change coats my batteries
a hunk of metal and alloys and cords and connections
knotted nests of interrelations
Eric Wolf’s modes of production (1982)
and my ideas on a seabed of eco-debris
possibilities of the end of the world
on a white paged Word doc.
There is nothing dire about the decline
of micro-monsters, our amphibian foes
who make their homes on condo plots
refuse pools, renamed to man-made lakes
salty from crocodile tears
And say no more of the giraffes, jaguars, or rhinos
Big beasts with no opposable thumbs
So Caesar says, hands clenched
We’ve seen the apocalypse
gaunt horseback, gleaming armour
ravaging lands, licking lips
lipids squeezed between the fingers.
they cycle the ends with their limen nets (Danowski and de Castro 2016)
to ensnare the bodies.
it’s happened all before.
And from behind the laptop we can be enraged
at injustices aplenty, a world’s away
out of earshot from the rumbling belly
out of sight from the droughts and floods
out of touch with the colleague across your desk
out of empathy for anyone at all.
but the screen shows and conceals
the reflection of the writer
who makes this possible.