Dear friends:
I dreamed that the DOE
Wanted to allow radioactive waste
From nuclear weapons facilities
To be recycled by siphoning it into
The single-stream Mississippi of the junk
That gets turned back into the stuff we buy.
How elegant is that!
But wait a second. . .
That wasn’t a dream.
They really want to do that!
But most of all
They want us to join them
In their psychosis.
If this wasn’t so real
I would seriously consider
Moving to an even safer oasis
Than rural Vermont
To enjoy the kind of world
I want to live in
And let the madness play out. . .
Let our descendents pick up the pieces.
Unfortunately when they are done
There won’t be any pieces,
Unless you call radioactive blobs
That used to be zippers
Fused to blobs of plastic and metal
That used to be assault weapons
Excavated from mounds that used to be cities,
Pieces.
This poem is the closest I come
To firing an assault weapon
Into the air
From a clip of hot, bitter words.
Here is my Solstice message to the DOE:
I have 500 friends out there,
And each of them has 500 friends.
We just don’t know each other. . .
Yet.
— Gary Lindorff
GARY LINDORFF, TCBH!’s resident poet, is an artist, musician, poet and counselor / dream-worker who practices shamanic techniques, and who lives in rural Vermont with his wife Shirley and two dogs. He can be reached at maleotter@gmail.com