1 minute read
Things That Sound True
by Bob Hoeppner
The earth licks the salt on the rims of its beaches.
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The earth bows its glaciers in an arc over the found penny of a pod of whales.
The earth toddles around the sun, trips, bashes its mouth on a coffee table on which lie three different books, blood everywhere.
The earth cries for help from the dwindling trumpets of elephants.
The earth cries whitely from the udders of cows fed God knows what.
The earth eats children, egests adults all over.
The earth paddles out to camps of bonobos grooming each other, then surfs on screams in the marketplace.
The earth is chapped from washing its face with money.
The earth combed its trees with above-ground nuclear testing.
The earth explodes beneath us.
The earth kicks a can down the road and over a cliff that overlooks a cannery.
The earth weeps crimes from its islands onto indifferent shoulders of continents.
The earth wears a hoodie of satellites and gets shot for no reason by meteors everyday.
The earth is afraid on both sides of the riot police’s shield.
The earth asks our names and we answer with stones.
