Member Poem

brine time

The sun bakes the collectors,

Feeding the high-rises to the south.

Trickle-down electronics feed the locals power too,

Bleeding a few watts to each plastic shanty.

Living on brine shrimp

mutated to catfish size

(when we say jumbo we mean it)

And halophytic vegetation,

The power's used to run lights and pump brine

for a little passive cooling.

At certain times and tides,

The shrimp boil purple, green, and gold,

Explode upon our minds,

Affect our vision heart and soul.

I see cities trees and countryside,

Gargantuan groves of plastic gone

That now the sun imbibe, and hide,

And strangler fig-like cables bulge on every one.