THE MESS

.one.

I feel empty. The world was

a mess when I was born

men shooting men

men shooting women and as I grew I

was given a toy gun and all my young friends

received toy guns and then the children

shot the children and I also got my mom

right in the eye I poked her and

shouted ‘gotcha!!’

And she had a black eye for a long time

and removed my toy gun

and the children said ‘that’s ok,

you can still play, we need an Indian”

.two.

I was always aware of my growing oldness

and that I had started with my first breath

breath by breath step by step

growing older and now

on the edge of the old the fluttering collapse

of a deluded angel spinning from the sky in

the universally shared choreography

of return

of the helpless

folding in of wings

of delight and surprise

as ochre dust and an open palm of earth

or fire greet us

enfold us remove us from the mess

.three.

A fool I hate writes letters to the editor

wastes words

says we all know the problems so well

theyre not worth repeating and

then repeats them and tells us

solutions are what’s needed and

Silence fills the blank page of solution

the place he asked to occupy

I went to the new movie

The one with the Sondheim score

and could not sleep after

witnessing the usual solution.

TS 22.I.08

OATMEAL POEM

I was born this morning.

it was the first thing that happened.

I was in a very long birth canal

for many passing years

I held my breath and held my breath

The world was snowing when I was born

but the dishes were done

and the kitchen possessed all the ingredients

for oatmeal bread

I am making some now because

oatmeal makes me remember dreams

of horses

and the Scots

all robust and farty

but in possession of pasture and glen

highland, brusque wind

I will eat some new oatmeal bread and watch

as it rains and rains

at the end of my first warm day.

TS 9 .II.08