Listen to a reading of this poem (reading by Tim Foley): It is easy to miss the cloud reflections in the puddleswhen the drones are perching on the telephone wiresand boats are exploding off the coast of Venezuela. It’s easy not to notice the flirtatiousness of the windwhen there is black smoke over Palestineand everything’s…

Caitlin Johnstone

Listen to a reading of this poem (reading by Tim Foley):

 

It is easy to miss the cloud reflections in the puddles
when the drones are perching on the telephone wires
and boats are exploding off the coast of Venezuela.

It’s easy not to notice the flirtatiousness of the wind
when there is black smoke over Palestine
and everything’s coated in oil.

It’s easy to overlook the electricality in our bodies
when the billionaires and bank boys
are trying to replace our minds with chatbots.

Don’t let them trick you into forgetting the moon,
or the dragon eggs incubating in your ribcage.
Don’t let them trick you into exchanging your heartbeat
for an algorithm and a memecoin.
There are still birds in the skies of this world.
There are accordion angels playing in the ruins.

Though at times it may feel like a giraffe bleeding to death
in an abandoned Presbyterian church
in a forgotten factory town
with faded billboards and faded eyes,
beneath the click clack marching of the robot dogs,
there is still birdsong.

There is still birdsong.

...

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