Let's touch antennae in the madhouse,

beneath the throes of a dying world

and the growing drums of war,

beneath the din of the cannibal Karens and Covid culture wars

and the miserable late night comedians pushing jokes out

through oceans of pain.

Let's touch antennae in the madhouse,

where there are more empty homes than homeless

and more jails than universities,

where there is so little scarcity that we have to artificially create it

and so much excess that we ship our garbage overseas.

Where the news is more worried about a French submarine deal

than Yemeni kids starving under Lockheed Martin bomb weather.

Where they harvest our digital information

and push for us all to get digital identifications

while piling used fast food packaging

on top of any part of us that is real.

Where future generations,

if there are future generations,

will scarce believe that there were once whales.

Let's touch antennae in the madhouse

and remind one another of our uncorrupted essence.

Let's kneel together

foreheads touching

beneath the gunfire

of ecocide advertisements and Pentagon prayers

of screaming red children and oceans of oil

and be intimate

and be infants

and press into that point of primal innocence

within each other

and let our resistances dissolve

to being at one,

to being at one with each other,

and to being at one

with this whole bloody

screaming

sexy

sacred

mess.

______________________________

Reading by Tim Foley.