If you believe in Gaia, most likely you recycle (poem #7)

The world will never rest again.

How long did we feel we could live—? Eyes closed—?

Now we mourn that which was comfortable, but still—didn’t we complain?

Aren’t we complaining—now?

I am blood inside—

I am 1.2 to 1.5 gallons circulating—

I’ve been living with the same amount

since I was robbed

of what I’ve been trying to reclaim.

This is how the Earth works too.

With her 326 million trillion gallons of water.

Diseased.

Trying to reclaim.

This is how she regulates.

How she retreads.

How she feeds,

herself

what she needs,

or how she deletes

what she deems,

catastrophic.

That would be you and that would be me.

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