While the Waymos burn

While the air over LA fills with smoke and teargas and Reaper drones

While Israelis hand each other trophies for not murdering Greta Thunberg

While Palantir stocks soar and insect populations plummet

While the news man writes headlines with increasingly creative phrasing

While people with nothing to lose sharpen guillotine blades

While the bank boys ask why the robot armies aren’t ready yet

While keffiyeh-clad heroes march to Gaza

While secret saints work secret miracles in the margins

While a sleeping giant stirs within our depths

While the flames dance in Buddha’s eyes

While my peacock feather heart opens like a fuchsia bud

While the tears roll down my cheeks for the dead and the dying

While the firelight dances on my walls and the rebels dance in the fire

I open my strange palms to our strange future and welcome it

Come what may.

Reading by Tim Foley.