BIO
Matt Sedillo is an LA based poet.
Storm warnings
When it finally
All goes down
When the titanic
Finally sinks
When there is nowhere
Left to
hide the money
When the alps
finally melt
When Switzerland
Becomes a barren desert
And the Caymans
Are buried
Miles below
Sea level
The fortune five hundred
Will set up
Tax shelters
On the moon
A storm is brewing
From the winds of
Fukushima
From the ash of
three mile island
From criminal negligence
From the killing
plunder
You can
hear the distant thunder
Strip the earth to
feed industry
Rip from the country
To please the city
Squeeze the city
To
engorge the capital
Make weapons capable
Of
destroying the planet
Turn profit
From monstrous tankers
Make poison the ocean
Factories that
darken the skies
And a storm is
brewing
From the ghosts of Bhopal
From the graveyard
of Exxon Valdes
From the soot that
is rising
Out of an industrial
revolution
A commercial revolution
A Chevy revolution
Inviting you to
Join the mad
chorus
As the rubber
hits the road
From the fall
Of the rain forest
Show
Those
Who would live
In natural rhythm
Villages
That would raise children
To the tune
Of a rain drop’s
Song
The savagery
Modern man
Is capable of
Let them know
That a storm is a
comin
That a hard acid rain is going
to fall
From the Yellow
River
To the Niger Delta
To the Cuyahoga
From the holes
In the o zone
Over New Delhi
Mexico city
And Cairo
From the geological
crime scene
Of the river Ganges
To the bitter
harvest
Of terminator seeds
From the mountain
tops
Chopped off
In the heart
Of Appalachia
From the Canadian
tar sands
To the coal seams
of the badlands
The polluted streams of
Gasland
There is nowhere to run
Nowhere to hide
No no
Not this time
And a storm is
a brewing
And you had best beware
For what profits a man
Should he
gain the world
But cannot breathe its’ air
And this
is no way to live
Because this land
This sky
The sea
Was made
For you and for me
For us and for we
For them and for
they
Who are not yet born
Who have yet to hear
A single rain drops song
And our hearts are
stirring
Our feet are marching
The choir is
rising
So to those who would
Turn this earth
To wasteland
Our home
To landmine
To save a nickel
Or scrape thin dimes
With their eyes set
On mountains of
profit
Well you had best
Batten down the hatches
Cross your fingers
And lock your doors
Because a storm is brewing
And you have
Been warned