No yellow bricks to guide
Our semi-precious way
Littered with the goodluck stones
That once served our purpose.
But don’t be fooled
By the shining of
Our semi-precious way;
Our luck has run out.
No more magic for us
On this path of beauty
No spells (or curses)
No protections from Oz
From the suits behind the curtain
From the stale halls of debate.
The fireworks mean nothing.
They only scare the pigeons.
They make me think of war.
How can we continue
On our semi-precious way
Without the wink and nod
Of a patriarchal godhead?
Or at least without our Easy Pass,
Power objects Our credit
Our proofs of purchase
Our good luck charms
Our synchronous devices
That are charging while we sleep
Remembering our passwords
With clues to who we are
Should we forget
Our semi-precious way.
What is your mother’s maiden name?
What is your favorite fruit?
What is our sustainable dream
For the precious world we broke?
What is our new path forward?