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Tilling the soil of new territory with poetry

Updated: Jan 22, 2020


Following the 2016 election, I began a project called “How to survive the years of DumbF3%@$)stan: A gardener’s guide.” I envisioned it as a collaborative effort where we would together till the soil of new territory using the tools of poetry, dance, drama and music. Here’s an excerpt from one of my first chapters. I invite contributors to add to the guide.


HOW TO SURVIVE THE RULE OF DUMBF*%$KISTAN

(a gardener’s guide)

Never leave home without flowers in your wallet

And when security asks for your ID show your roots

Hidden in seeds of discontent

Bear wild fruit in colors yet to be named…….


Always know the buttons of force are fake and hidden

Up the amputee sleeves of tyrants and fascists—always hungry

Always sending back their orders to enslave their own kitchen

Because their coils of taste are rusted in mechanisms of old lies………

Know that nothing makes sense as much

As the rain falling on a wandering tongue.


Listen for the new languages that speak the body electric

Of pleasure in bones and blood out-foxing the daily news...

Mirror everything that moves and kiss the stillness

Of the spaces in-between musical notes

And your own silken breasts. Sing the notes of fertility ceremonies

To turn back the blows of greed with cries of constant re-birth.


Recognize the orange hair of the clown for what it is:

An old rug in a bazaar for tricksters who have lost their magic.

Try try try not to get stuck in the mud of gallows humor, even if it is fuuny.

When voyaging in vessels across oceans, use the wind as your passport.


What I am trying to say is that Mother Earth is facing her own funeral

Calling our bluff as we continue to bicker over the reading of her will.

Even the dead who had nothing to do with the election of an Emperor without clothes

Want us to stop with our dirges and heed the drumbeat of our own dreams


So even if he orders the deportation of truth, we will sew its seeds into our seams.

Wear it under the required wartime camouflage

Plant it among saxophone solos rising from sad-eyed streets

Water it with wine with from angels lips, sweat from dancers’ hips.

Call it wings if you want—but don’t leave home without it—

Don’t leave home without the right accessory—now trending in fashion tips……

We will dress this planet for success in our naked love.




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