Reading by Tim Foley:

There will be times,
oh my child,
when it all seems hopeless.

When the trees all have QR codes
and the bank boys and balrogs
are holding all the cards.

When your refrigerator tells you
“THE IRANIAN PEOPLE YEARN FOR FREEDOM”
and your electric shaver can smell
if you’ve been reading Parenti.

When you’re on a first-name basis
with the police surveillance drones
and your colonoscopy screen
in the exam room
is running ads for Northrop Grumman.

And it is true,
oh my child,
it is true that the machine is mighty
and that its armor is very thick.

It is true that the bank boys
have long fingers
and they are putting marbles
in our minds.

The sky is red,
and the moon has a FOR SALE sign,
and parts of Palestinians
are turning up in our tap water.

But oh my child, do not be daunted,
and oh my child, do not despair.
There are forces within us
the Flock cameras can’t see.
There are depths within us
not even the balrogs can reach.

Beneath all the doomscroll addiction psychosis,
beneath all the oceans of trauma and toil,
a creature is stirring
and opening its eyes,
its eyes full of primordial déjà vu,
its eyes full of Big Bang recursions
full of eyes
watching eyes
watching eyes
watching eyes.

It looks at you,
and you meet its gaze.

Everything goes still.

You remember what you are.

Oh my sweet, darling child,
you see it now.

You see that This
could never be contained.

__________________

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