grounded

By Stan Rogal

“as if the earth under our own feet were an excrement of some sky”
                           — gerard manley hopkins

why not begin with the end in mind
humanity’s increased weird flirtation with self-extinction
beyond physical fact measure each storm by its effect,
not its nature
              seek new levels of devastation : war no longer declared
only continued
 
bombed out of our skulls
              sucking air through an empty nipple
                          screaming bloody-blue murder
 
(nothing holds : nothing makes nothing happen)      
 
they say I’m trying to fight society how in hell can I fight society?
it’s not my job to convince you of the truth of this
or any other sentence
              you were awfully holy, weren’t you? looking
                          slyboots as usual
you know the ones : destroyed utterly
by a ripe beer fart at stroke of midnight

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Stan Rogal lives and writes in Toronto along with his artist partner and their pet jackabee. Work has appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies in Canada, the US and Europe. The author of several books, including 12 poetry and a handful of chapbooks. He’s left-handed and has never owned a smart phone, placing him among the elite 8% of North Americans.