Hive Mind

In a dream I am watching cable news.

The reporter says, A poet wrote more

than Shakespeare but we didn’t

call it revolution. Most poets write

better than Shakespeare

but they aren’t dead

and I wake and laugh

because poetry would never be

on television, butt implants

too smashed against the glass,

all eyes on the dance floor

high on molly, all mouths laughing

at the newest-trending challenge; men

seeing how many tampons they can fit

into their mouths before they’re paid less.

I have seen enough white people screaming

that I never want to scream again,

but silently isn’t how animals

demand self-defense. An article says

Poetry isn’t dead and I wonder

how much poetry paid them to write that.

A worker bee tells his mother

he wants to be an artist

and loses his college fund.

The hive mind playing internet chess

hasn’t decided on my move yet,

so I’m waiting in the honeyed catacombs

of everything that could be something

if only someone cared.

“Hive Mind” is a poem I wrote in 2019. It was published in Local Nomad, which you can read online.