Like all worthy dreams,
the peace I crave is as far
from me as sun is from
the center of the universe,
and I, too am floating,
holding my elliptical pattern
because this is where I was placed.
I do not remember the exact moment –
the day I opened my eyes
the day I first felt the sensation
of I am me and you are you
and everything else is what it is.
Profane scriptures tell us
there is no peace in our time
and the news plays this out
in not so graphic detail. The trick,
like all good producers will tell you,
is to keep the body counts low
and keep the tension high.
We like our violence like we like
our romance– soft core porn innuendo
all skin and no penetration,
the illusion of the desire
we have lost the ability to articulate.
There's no rest, and no time--
not for the necessary reflections
and pesky considerations of conscious
when we are left to watch
while the world gradually pulls itself
apart. There will be wars and
there will be rumors of wars; but
that does not prophesy the end –
that will come upon us as we are laughing
in that moment when we think we have
escaped the impossible gravity of dreams.
And when the sky opens up,
it will not be God,
it will not be the Devil,
but an intolerably wretched acid rain
burning out our eyes
leaving us muddling
in puddles of our former selves
in the middle of the street.