The Serpent: Smog in the City
Mascara swirling down her face,
the woman with sagging eyelids
stands on the chipped concrete
like the tall factory pipe
connected to the power plant machines.
She doesn't think about her plight,
only the fact that she must make the ends meet
in order to feed her 2 children.
Not realizing she is on her way
to developing stage 3 lung cancer,
she is forced to inhale the smoke
in the bar she works at,
which is subtlely but surely
passing through the tightened veins
in her slender body.
She exhales while the python
across the street from her
excretes carbon emissions
into the industrial area,
slowly creeping all over the metropolis,
gradually diffusing into all surrounding neighborhoods.
Times have forced her to do this,
but so has the economy,
a world of money,
a construct of the society
in which she has found herself living,
trying to survive day to day.
Just as the metal serpent
does what it normally does
on a daily basis,
so too does she work the bar,
pouring drinks, handing them out;
she has grown so accustomed to the motions.
As the creators of these factory machines
disregard the fact that they are destroying
the air and environment,
contributing to future climate changes,
global warming and thermal pollution,
the hard worker is unknowingly contributing
to her future demise as well.
The globular spheres of the oil giants
give birth to false dreams of the money makers.
She herself has had no dreams,
no career goals,
no wishes or desires
to be something or anything more
than the poor waitress
that she has been pre-ordained to perform as,
just as the steel pipes and machines
have been subjected to serve as
More robots like these are on the way.
In the works is even the city's first monorail.
They say such an endeavor will bring more jobs,
but it will also bring more fumes, noise, and destruction.
No end in sight
as the steel machines
and other workers pound and press in the major city,
hissing and slithering,
eventually poisoning the whole suburbia,
ultimately the entire state
and who knows where else
in the world.
To Soy, My Soul
Dress me underneath your deep shade,
Fill my nervures with your warm Asiatic liquor,
And tranquilize me using your satin touch.
Without you, I will shrivel,
Then become nothing but dust.
Without me, you will have no spice in your life,
Like an ocean devoid of all creatures.
I promise, I will satiate,
But, after just one taste,
You will desire more of me.
Though I am not sweet like honey dew,
I am fiery, nonetheless,
As you will soon find out;
My oils will burn your heart
And spread through you like lava.
That both our hues are dark is a lovely sign:
We are a perfect display of harmony:
We resemble the ladybug:
While I am the color of blood,
You are the color of night:
I am more vivid than the star itself.
In me, waiting to be freed, live multiple seeds,
Which I will share with you
Provided you accept and nurture them,
As you do me.
Together, let us discover the meaning of everything,
Starting with the purpose of our existence and union.
Are we here just to bask around endlessly,
Reproduce constantly, suffer daily?
Or are we here to see the sun glow from different angles?
In you, I feel I am growing,
For my skin is softening,
My complexion is intensifying,
And my body is enlarging.
As I watch my self change,
I muse about the source of my pain,
Or the bee sting that won't go away;
Something in me must be producing it
(Perhaps a buried memory, a loss thought,
Or something in me even, or something else).
When I look at you and see only glee,
I worry that I may pass it onto you.
But you were once green, too, and were taken away from your
Brothers and sisters, as well as mother and father.
Isn't it hard to be away from not only them,
But also the rain and sunshine?
No wonder you are so wet and teary—
You are the only one who understands.