Poem 333 (allways capitalize the We)

they say a storm is coming.
        I will be scared when the sun is.

        Don’t forget We are miracles please
    Don’t forget We are
            creation’s favorite color of chaos
                carried away with ourselves
                    at 67,000 miles an hour

                        and We
            have gotten pretty good at it

We decipher our location        on this big rock
by looking at flaming balls of gas
                through lenses We make
                by smashing little rocks
and applying fire to them         which We also make
It’s wild y’all
There’s too much
of what We are
to be defined
by what we’re not
    and in our purest moments won’t We get that

            We are the poems they wrote
        We are the fires they danced around
                They passed us down
            from generation to generation
                and we’re here now

                    Isn’t it wild?

how We try and tame it
        Obey your heartbeat
because the other way around doesn’t work
        Forage the darkness for light
because that’s the easiest place to find it
        Pilfer all the joy you can
Stash it in every crevice of this life

                Alan Kaufman told me
            “Do not let the killers or haters win.”

                    Jose Montoya told me
            “We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.”

                    The sun is not scared.
                     so neither am I.