i've always been precarious here. 
not to be too grand about it, but i knew 
as a child i was an endangered species. 
who could i tell it to in the dangerous species? 
now there is a tribe i always belonged to. the precariot.

there's a climate summit 
in california today, land of chevron and jerry brown. 
there are people crying as one. 
they are saying, because we have been given no choice,
we could fell the giants. 
inside the giants are many tiny people. 
they animate corpses that menace the land. corporations 
are made-up 
giants animated by many tiny people who want 
(if they knew) 
to see the way to live too.
what live being 
would choose death for profit?

how can we live in peace 
in a heartless all-consuming war? 
it seems to revert to the heart. 
somewhere in the waste 
of heartlessness
heart quietly beats
by abiding.
in war we will not have 
justice or peace. 
in the heart of earth 
we may have love. 
they can't steal love or extract love,
jail it for freedom, or make it hate and kill for profit.
 
the only thing they can't extract 
from the indigenous 
earth is love.