“…Climate once was a mountain, untethered
now so the Mojave feels free to move over
the Sierra Nevadas into the Central Valley,
great green source of half our food. Worse,
much worse, is now ordained, but unknown
to us who refused to worship undemanded,
and must pay for our easy hubris, as God
will one day make me the trembling leaf
with one glance from Her empty nests…”
“…A woman’s hair moves at one-tenth
its former speed, like lace curtains
billowing off a shock of window
on a most uneventful day, the way
you sometimes might see summer rain–
a wave of linens hanging from the sun…”
“…Lena got all leather for her motorbike, M. Ducati,
on his kind of night, avenger of clerks & cretins,
jewel thief because everything is stolen, champagne
sipped from a bota bag on her back, piped into her helmet,
pistol clipped to the back of one boot (this whole game
sometimes gets played that way, and she won’t go dead
for being stupid). Maybe a smash and grab. She knows
the city’s grid like a coroner loose in veins, alleyways…”
Chrome Press 