No Sweetness in Your Sweetbread

There is no sweetness

in your sweetbread,

kindness was not

 

on the menu 

 

Truth’s restraining order

already filed by advertising

 

Designed to keep 

us in the dark,

the very way

 

we keep our victims

 

...Happily in compliance,

we draw smiles on the faces

of those whose milk...

 

and babies…

 

we stole

 

So our cartons sell,

so our bellies fill

with the delicious taste

of self-deception

 

The Laughing Cow

brand spreadables

because having your 

babies killed

 

is hilarious

 

Views Above and Below

Peaceful,

sitting 

 

                                Peaceful, 

                                swimming

 

        water rippling,

        bobber bobbing

 

hook 

baited

 

                                hook 

                                piercing

 

        the pull of the line

 

                                brings 

                                panic

 

brings

smiles

 

                                brings

                                suffocation

24 Oct 2020

The Angle of Perception

The man sitting in a field quietly gazing into nature 

looked a lot more peaceful before I noticed 

the rifle in his hands

10 Jul 2020

I-80 Is a Ribbon of Death

Idaho to Pennsylvania,

thirty-five hours of road

Nature beckons through my window,

fields and trees, lush and lovely,

bright with the colors of spring

My focus, my peace,

interrupted, shattered 

by the procession of endless of identical trucks 

Crammed tightly,

bound for a hell I can’t help but imagine,

Passengers whose value is dictated 

solely by the taste of their flesh

Or else empty,

because death has already commenced

As the trucks whiz by,

light pours through the holes, 

the empty spaces

only recently, 

like their former passengers, 

devoid of movement and life

Even if I would avert my eyes,

I would feel them there

I am trapped between 

opposing views

On my right,

life germinates from the seed

On my left,

life makes a final, unheeded plea

From one window,

open spaces

From the other, 

confinement

This side,

beautiful prairies

But that side,

diesel, blood, death

Peace calls starboard,

but port offers only

profound grief

20 May 2020

(based on the experiences of my friend, Sandra Ganey)

Redundant Circles Never Leading Anywhere

The slight hint

of green is enough

to excite my feet

rapidly into motion,

wind rippling 

through my fur

For a moment,

I feel alive

The thrill dies

in a few short strides

as I’m met with bars,

a gate, a fence, a wall

A trap I can’t seem 

to escape

Déjà vu,

every damn day

My life defined,

enclosed,

by the men who 

built my narrow bars,

selling tickets 

so children could see

the sad remnants 

of my caged life

I pace in desperation,

my life reduced

to redundant circles

never leading me anywhere

Despite the illusion

of comfort,

my body knows

that trapped

is not where I belong

Mar 2020

This was written as part of The Zoo, which is a collaboration (in writing and performance) with Zach, combining music and poetry. You can view the full piece here:

The Zoo - Zach and Keith 

The Death Cries of Dairy

“Alternative milks

are killing our

dairy farms”

The headline

an ironic cry

for mercy

from an industry

whose cows 

receive none

A cashew

is not impregnated

when we want 

milk to flow

Almond mothers 

never bellow

when their babies

are dragged away

Baby coconuts

are never deprived

of iron and mobility

to tenderize their flesh

We don’t cover

our children’s eyes

when soybeans meet

the sharpened blades

The slaughterhouse

isn’t lined with

the bodies of oats

whose milk 

had slowed

Your dairy farms 

are dying because

we realized the cows 

don’t need to

Watch it performed with friends

"Alternative Milks Are Killing Our Dairy Farms" (BBC)

21 Feb 2020

Seven Billion Voices

There are seven billion voices 

Only one of them is mine 

Their voices seemed louder, 

and there were so many 

It was overpowering 

My voice seemed small, 

insignificant in comparison 

It can seem like 

no one is listening, 

no one cares 

What good could come 

from my lone voice? 

Perhaps I should be quiet, 

even fall silent, 

and let others 

control the discussion 

But if I listen closely, 

the narrative is not as consistent 

as they would like me to believe 

I hear other voices 

that sound more like mine 

They only seemed faint 

because they were further away, 

drowned out by the crowd’s 

boisterous chants of 

“it has to be this way” 

With my ears tuned 

to this frequency, 

these divergent voices 

have strength and volume, 

they are far from quiet 

A collection of voices 

can only be created 

one by one

The narrative can change 

The chorus is singing 

from a book of blank pages 

Pages that only together, 

over time, will we fill 

My heart is not weak 

My brain, fully functioning 

My voice, no less important 

There are seven billion voices 

​

And one of them 

is mine 

2 Dec 2019

It Wasn't Me

Someone else 

It wasn’t me 

It’s not my responsibility 

The animal is already dead 

I didn’t put the price on its head 

They killed it before 

I sat down for lunch 

So what’s the harm 

in continuing to munch? 

My hand wasn’t on the trigger 

I didn’t slice into their liver 

I couldn’t watch 

I couldn’t do 

I only pay for someone else to 

29 Nov 2019

Trickle-Down Compassion

I’m glad 

you finally

want to change

your long-standing

dietary habits

the unexpected

doctor’s visit

brought fear

to your eyes

fear

that has trickled

all the way down

to your plate

the cholesterol,

the chest pains,

the fragility of life

Your life

felt important

to you,

but theirs 

never did 

2 Jan 2020

Uncle George and Guy

Falling from the back

of a truck barreling 

down the interstate 

was a strange salvation

The hooks of the 

slaughterhouse would 

never pierce his flesh

Instead of the 

bloodied knife,

he was met, 

for the first time,

with loving hands

In a place called  

sanctuary, George

found his home

His worth no longer tethered

to the whims of a palate

or the profit from his death

One week later,

another pig fell

Different truck,

different destination

first to mass confinement

for quick fattening,

slaughter would come 

soon enough

But Guy, beating 

insurmountable odds,

found himself safe

in the same sanctuary

This scared, tiny piglet

would not eat or drink

until one night he slipped

into George’s room

and these two souls,

similar stories,

contrasting sizes,

have ever since

been inseparable 

Guy and Uncle George

Iowa Farm Sanctuary

And if that is not enough cuteness for you, here is a

Beautiful video: Uncle George and Guy, Iowa Farm Sanctuary

25 Jan 2020

When We Have to Rescue from Those We Love

(For Ace)

I hear praise for my work

offering sanctuary for the few

who, through serendipitous luck,

survive the deadly demands 

of your taste buds

But this praise rings hollow

when we sit down to eat

Your knife cuts their flesh,

I feel the knife in me

Who do you think we 

are rescuing them from?

25 Jan 2020

Watch it performed

written for Ace Wilde, and from his point of view, based on his own beautifully heartfelt words:

Don't Judge Me While I’m Judging

Another black man 

faces your wrath, 

your vengeance 

His crime, 

and it was brutal, 

was causing animal suffering 

You express your hatred 

of Michael Vick 

with pieces of other animals 

still stuck in your teeth 

Qualifying your disgust 

with animal suffering 

selectively by species 

His punishment was served, 

yet your hatred continues 

Forgiving strong black men 

was not on the agenda for today 

Despite our compassion 

for those around us 

who still send animals 

to a dark, brutal death 

day after day, 

meal after meal 

Vick was cruel to animals 

for his pleasure 

My pleasure is different, 

you adamantly contend 

Failing to see the difference 

is only in your mind 

9 Dec 2019

An Inconvenient Meal

I’m sorry to be 

an inconvenience 

The dishes you make 

of slaughtered animals 

fail to whet my appetite 

I awkwardly nibble 

the raw strips of carrots and celery, 

the only accommodation 

you offer my ethics, 

while broken bodies 

repeatedly enter 

your greasy lips 

You pass me strange glances, 

stunned that I could 

somehow decline 

to stuff my face 

with the roasted victims 

of your meal 

I’m sorry you see me 

as an inconvenience, 

but I’m more sorry 

you don’t see them at all 

I’m sorry you savor the taste 

more than my comfort, 

more than their lives 

7 Dec 2019