Christmas in July
beasts breathing carbon and light
A new poem read normally. Because it's cataclysmic all on its own.
cosmic dream radio , Episode 11
Trees that depend on cold to seed and fruit are "migrating" to more northern climes: with our help and on their own. If that isn't mythology, what is? Let's go there: into a lyric, liturgical mythology of polar bears, forests, and blistering-hot Christmas Eves.
The intro discusses a few of the true stories from this poem's genesis.
what on earth was I thinking?
I'm very proud of this poem. It is one of the rare ones: ones I can only hope for 3 times or something in my whole life.
I grew up Christian in Georgia: In this poem my roots are showing.
Speaking of roots showing: it's almost my birthday! Christmas Trees in the summer: my present to you.
Have you listened to first podcast? It's about climate change, too. I keep striking the subject from different directions... Link below...
Message to M13: My adolescent-stuck-in-a-small-town-with-a-ham-radio take on climate change
Listen to or download the poem without the intro on soundcloud:
sing, woman, sing. deer crash through windows. hell hounds want to play. this crappy bar? you've been here before. nothing's changed. let's turn this basement into a club. everyone's looking for someplace to go.