When I was a child I had no trouble destroying the world

with mind-rays. The neighbors who communalized our kitchen.

The empty ghost-houses in the overgrown bushes

behind the crumbling cement walls where ghouls screeched.

The stepfather who wrestled my dog Nemo out of my arms

and gave him away to someone I’m still looking for.

The classmate who tried to buy the frog stanza I didn’t sell him.

Fathers, cities, trains, empty skies, the shadow police, school.

I was moody and destruction was the vivid product of my mind.

I observed ants and bees and wild cats and I was sad for them.

I was happy for the birds. I didn’t know how cats destroyed them.

The clouds looked fluffy until they filled up with info instead of water.

Like stadiums they now belong to corporations they are going dark.

The politics are as bad as the environment gasping for breath.

We won’t make it to that nitrous oxyde planet, friend.

We won’t laugh involuntarily when our teeth and eyes are gone.

Walk like the goats, straight up, what is this rock for anyway?

Andrei Codrescu is a Romanian-born American poet, novelist, essayist, screenwriter, and commentator for National Public Radio. He is the winner of the Peabody Award for his film Road Scholar and the Ovid Prize for poetry.

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