this poem body is a forest clearing with incubation-al legs...

"Consequence",
art by Allison Sommers ©

this poem body is a forest clearing with incubation-al legs...

an old campground speaker affixed 
to a tall trimmed pine plays 
scratchy jazz and occasional 
PSA styled ringlets 
of words like these...

blah blah blah 
blah blah blue 
boo booboo boob
hiss pop fizz...
in an era 
of mixed media latest greatest messaging 
and capable long sleeved parlor tricks...
the emotional vacuity 
of politics masquerades 
as bodhisattva charades
in order for us
to see and to be 
terminally unique 
yet the same
reckless population 
lacking proper controls...

thievery of the wheel 
PT Barnum said sell the tickets
we'll get a show going

I think to myself 
could a live cell viral load out 
reduce the choke hold of humanity 
and how it applies it to Earth...

"perhaps", 
answers influenza, 
startling me a bit
as its voice was one 
I could not see...

"I do have more sinister cousins,
but I'll need most everyone 
of you all to adopt, 
a chemical-ized additive 
and fast fill addled 
Americanized 
western diet" 

I reply, 
" like skipping the sprouts 
and other things that may cause me 
a healthy aversion to dying off...?"

"yes", says influenza again, 
"exactly the self 
applied tourniquet 
grease we need."

EJR ©