PORTRAIT OF HOME AS FUNERAL PYRE BY JAMIE AVERY

california is      a sunburn                all peeling
flaking skin. hot tar           leaps!                  up
in cauldron-like bubbles           of black sticky
ooze         dripping down            the forearms
of interstate.     orange skies        shout down
at the poor          fucks on their       commute.
mocks their     wasted days.     their rubber &
their tears.

                                                    did you really
think             you could stop              the sun?
did you not         see the lighting?        could
you not         hear the thunder?                this
was always    coming for us.               & really
we should     have known.                       now
we play          catch up                    in the red
november sun. & i don’t know               if we
survive this.          but if we do         california
will be            my only inheritance.        & like
all           blood-lent wealth         it will not be
earned.    & there will have been        a price.

May 27, 2021