My dream disturbing:
Grand black pianos dropping from the sky
Missing bodies frolicking in an otherwise calm, moonlit ocean
Black men still being killed with impunity
I awake Channeling E.B. White:
“I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.”
It is hard to plan a day when civility is aligned along
A white fence facing down the barrels
Of hatred, ignorance and a blind lady justice
Hard to enjoy a world when one does not believe
In an organized God
Armed with the biggest guns
Millions of magazines spitting volleys of pain and grief
Days of drought, drones, and death
If I believed
I could commit the supreme act of
Cowardice by putting it all in
His (not Hers?) hands
Walk away ‘enjoy the world’ in a
Disney fog of happiness
I would have around my neck
That should admit me to the club of believers
If I believed
If I believed I wouldn’t be naked
But (just the same) I would have no clothes
I know the difference – now
If I believed I would not have to scramble
In my silver rage through the
Glove of darkness
This faux life wearing the liar’s smile
Fingering the cross
At other Xanaxed smilers who wonder
Why I am so nakedly angry
And I wonder what my last words will be?
Pleas for help?
Declarations of love?
Will it matter?
Who will be the last to hear my voice?