A Poem by Jenne Kaivo


Give thanks to the soft and insatiable fog
that hides us away and keeps our blood cold.
Give thanks to the mighty, unstoppable hag
called Hunger, who rides us until our knees fold.
She is steely of mind and lanky of leg
and humbles us all ’til we’re gone to the mold.

Give thanks to the legends of guilt and of sin
that teach we were evil before being born.
Give thanks to salvation if you only can
since we are all damned; before death let us mourn.
There are reasons laws stand against any fun.
A puff of a pipe means Hell under the horn.

Give thanks to the dollar and thanks to the cent
because we are born free and we forge our own chains
and thanks to the madman’s tyrannical rant
on which we vote yes and Democracy reigns.
Give thanks to us all, because we always hunt
ourselves down with arrows and cause our own pains.

Jenne Kaivo lives in Santa Rosa, CA, with a roommate, lots of dinosaurs, and overflowing books. She has had works published in Synaeresis, Subtle Tea and The Lovecraft Ezine, and can be found at