Turning up the heat

Summer grass
Dies in England;
Lush green burned to tawny dust
By an unaccustomed sun.

One more warning sign
Painted in perfidious blue
That the world we sought to shape
Now turns itself against us.

Digital warfare

By law and conscience
I cannot
Will not
Take up arms
Against this present menace.

All that remains
Is to occupy this ground

And do my bit
To show defiance
With my two fingers.

On such a day
A million words
Would fall far short:

A world of tongues
Could never conjure
Enough to say it all.

So I’ll content myself
With this short, bitter shot
Slammed in one

Chased with salt and lemon;
Taste the acid sting
And let it burn deep down.