It’s paradise in three acts
Train-bus-bus
Male domination blues
But sky blue optimism
Is it the Indians?
Who say the world oscillates
Between 17 levels?
From a paradise up top,
In which we’re all giants,
To an apocalyptic sleazeland
Down low and full of crime?
And right now is second-to-bottom,
A time of mistrust
And in the next 10,000 years
We’ll begin going up again?
I washd my shoes last nite
In the shower of people
Who were strangers ten hours before.
And this is a normal day
And I’ve discoverd the benefits
Of Amtrak vs. Greyhound
And I do math puzzles and finish
Ms. Eisler’s feminist goldmine
And am jittery with optimism
And despair at how deeply
We’re all soaked in our habits
But the scales are so close to tipping.
There are guns and christians,
But there is also fruit
And siestas.
There’s a reason people have homes
and in a bus one remembers
Good-natured teasing,
Learnd from one’s father,
And regrets repeating it towards Mom.
I’m thankful for Zelda,
For the quick glimpse of a fox,
For running barefoot for miles
Thru mud, thorns and poison oak,
For hiding in trees with a dog,
Eating apples and seeds
While the rancher passes below.
People argue on street corners,
Waving books with thin pages,
Claiming their contents are true!
What could ever be true,
That can not be observed?
If the book is lost,
That truth is lost.
What fools would keep their truth
In such temporary pages?
I told a girl I’d come to her cafe,
And now not sure I want to
Cuz it’s owned by a church.
I’m sure this kind of
Prejudice is bad policy.
Still, I’ve got a few blocks to go.
