the actual pingpong of the abyss

this is maybe
it may be
a place for
words a place
for the making
of a possible
difference if
even only
a tiny beginning.

Of course
what may be
already is in
the certainty
of our imaginal
forge in the elfin
forest of our
invisible
and maybe
soundless trees.

If the palm
oil plantation
master’s bulldozer and
or incendiary device
fells a forest
and smolders a
peat bog do
we hear it as
we mirror our
makeup as we
feed our KFC?

That is
if a tree
and its denizens
are murdered
in the forest in
this or another
hemisphere
do we hear
their screams?
Do we hear
our screams?

Could be
this is a place
where our
outrage can
congeal in
syllables of
possible significance
maybe to make
a difference even
if only a tiny
beginning.

Where are we
going? Where am I?
Where are you?