Like they say, talk is cheap. You can buy 
it for a song. But a song isn’t always cheap, 
and a poem is not all just talk. A poem has 
repercussions. A poem has consequences. 

Our homes, our air water food clothes 
our ability to feed our grandchildren, all 
for sale to the highest bidder, turned into junk.
All they know is how to commodify, to
turn a profit, transform our primeval valleys 
into video games.
 
But even all that plunder,
all that booty, all that pillage
just seems to make them even hungrier.

While the hypocrites keep spicing 
their impeccable appetizers, 
while the stock brokers keep lubricating 
their numbered bank accounts,
while the politicians keep crouching 
in their safe deposit boxes,
while the assassins keep screwing 
on their silencers,
while the unnatural rains keep drenching
the dying cedar forests,
while the parched river beds keep trickling 
painfully into the chemical mudflats,
while the radioactive waves keep slapping 
greedily against the oily rocks and toxic sands,
we stand in the still-smoldering arcade,
ankle-deep in rotting piles of poisoned 
peaches and tomatoes, our sacred spots 
vandalized and looted, priceless treasures 
trashed beyond recognition,
functionaries clearcutting birthday parties, 
ancient forests turned into funeral processions,
grandmothers with open sores on their backs,
denied love and medicine,
young girls who have not seen their 
families for months, beloved teachers 
with ropes on their wrists and ankles,
while security guards and realtors
roam the smoldering halls, searching 
for anything of value to sell for souvenirs.

No, we are not commodities
No, this planet cannot be privatized.
We draw the deepest line.
Deprivatize our antelopes,
our bluebirds, our mountain passes, 
our wavelets rippling across our beaver lakes,
our finches’ nests swaying in our elms, our
prairie dogs, our flowering dogwood,
the foam on our seven seas.
Taking back our commons
Healing our commons
Restoring our dreams.
Deprivatizing, decommodifying,
caring for, respecting, reviving, 
the commons of our land, our waters, our 
atmosphere, our homes, our jobs,
our food, our industries, our skills, 
our knowledge, our cultural heritage,
our history, our elders, our unborn 
generations, all the turquoise 
commons of our planet, 
all our commons together.

But talk is cheap. You can buy it 
for a song. But a song isn’t always cheap, 
and a poem is not all just talk. A poem has 
repercussions. A poem has consequences.