The old man on the green
side of the moon ate steel gnats
while saving the manatees from the
wetnursian cyclopes living in Picasso’s
blue period(—no! not God’s blue period!
that was an intensely tropical flow
and, to this day, has still barely been cleaned up!—
some people enjoy vacationing
in the weirdest of places!—)while
waiting for the dopamine hit
to wake him to his chronotype’s lie.
All paintings with slight teal tints
were singes in the sky back
when the night was green.
In these dark days of minds mangled
by machines, where Fascism seeps through
half the population’s latent hatred and spills
into the streets of the zeitgeist,
climate change choking a world
that lied and denied itself into existence.
They say Jesus will be back soon
to fix everything but soon is rarely
soon enough, is it? Sometimes soon enough
is never and I think that’s what we’re dealing with here.
You, wearing your oracular safety helmet;
religion is a brainborn pathogen
blown down from the sandy corridors
of the art of time-keeping and checking
in on the middle earth as to keep an eye
on the blossoming of milk from out their prickly green tree-gourds
adorned with psychedelic buttons. Old yet prevalent.
A toxic hue fans out across the globe,
infecting the hills and herds of people,
the various populous, causing pangs
of endless delusion to rage
across the spacetime
of a planet already faltering.
Heath Brougher is the Editor-in-Chief of Concrete Mist Press and co-poetry editor of Into the Void, winner of the 2017 and 2018 Saboteur Awards for Best Magazine. He received Taj Mahal Review’s 2018 Poet of the Year Award and is a multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee. He was also awarded the 2020 Wakefield Prize for Poetry. He has published twelve books and, after spending over four years editing the work of others, is ready to get back into the creative driver seat for a bit. He has two books forthcoming in 2024.