This slick is vinaigrette flambé
Where’s the fresh, green salad?
The dying animals should sing a ballad
In Esperanto or other language of hope.
The guilty should wash with Castille soap
Until their dry, papery skins flake
If you leave you’ll be a vacui
If you stay you have our guarantees
If you leave you’ll feel a vacui
If you stay we’ll buy you water skis
In the condensed lingo of the internet: bpNichol > BP oil. This poem considers the practice of in-situ burning of oil slicks, setting the sea aflame to burn oil and sea turtles alive.
I owe a debt to the beautiful 8-line poem by Canadian concrete and sound poet bpNichol:
Daniel Lin is the publisher of the small press Love Among the Ruins. He has a chapbook from Nightboat Books and has recently published poems in Octopus, Sink Review, Notre Dame Review, and Realpoetik.