I. On an airplane

$9 gets you a tiny bottle, momentary remediation depending on your tolerance. A buzz off the up n’ up or the up-up and away — you’re choice? I somehow want to fly today. I spent yesterday flyering at a free concert at the Hatch Shell and it’s time to come down. “Have you heard about Extinction Rebellion?” “Do you have a minute to talk about climate change?” “Know about climate tipping points and positive feedback loops?” But nobody can hear one, quiet voice over classical music synced in the New England Aquarium.

II. My tipping point has past

The nature of this fact matter is that the poem will never end until positive feedback gets real. I’m not an alarmist or worse some melodramatic citizen recycling buzz words —jokes are “on you” because this is my poem with no special interest in disrupt-er-ing the privacy of your thoughts, piercing the membrane of mind, collapsing the final refuge. Still, as if we’re fossilized already, I demand that you demand that governments tell the truth of our climate trajectory. Our minds aren’t for the taking, but they are easily dismembered.

III. Everything anyone

believes in or fights for will be for nothing whether or not we are already nothing makes no difference — it’s called change for reason. How ever-layered your identity, we’ll all be in-situ-ationally sediment. The facets of ourselves won’t mean anything like a crystal. We can only “guess,” maybe that is our problem — “Do we die by guessing wrong?” — guess again, I’m neither conservative nor bright, but whatever grounds me will be grounded at the end of differentiation.

IV. We’re all so busy

driving, biking, grilling, slicing green with a club, fishing, farming, fish farming — it’s all alarming. Until governments of the world (buy the world for the world) declare a climate emergency like never before “I’m [whatever] and you’re not” is another distraction to collective action. Shaming, blaming, and defaming must be avoided at all costs, nobody has the money or time to fight time and time again. We’re all caught by a left and right hook, fish on an alluring line — painfully awkwardly — both sides refusing to hang out.

V. Warding off onward

You probably care about free, individually-wrapped Dum-Dums more than you let on. For the past thirty years, we’ve been told to take individual action to address climate change like a slowly forming climate gang, one for all being cooked into smiling rubber, both debunked and having already made our beds. We think like princes as the peas in an alien brain-pod. I took action, you took another, but individual freedom is only indivisible before it collides. Fulfilled with ideas from all of our travels — “Our stock clonked… should we rank the roots?” — I believe; that’s nobody’s business. Any-who, all plants come from where they are.

VI. The plane is landing

Now, I’m taking off again, remembering thinking about trees splitting — not by a logger, but by their side.