when terrible things cascade
and constantly answer the question
“how can this possibly get worse?”
we are jarredly battered
into a sense of unreality
as if this were a movie
and the screenwriter decided
not only to kill their darlings
and the horses they rode in on
and the kitten with the thorn in its paw,
but to out-dresden dresden
with a firestorm barrage
on two uninvolved cities
that are cultural treasures.
..
we can’t walk out on this movie.
..
we can pray, but we must act as if the answer is
“clean up your own mess. no bailouts.”
..
we can record the crimes; we can defend ourselves
and our neighbors with our numbers;
we can die with dignity…
..
but what we must not do
is act as if, pretend that,
this is just a movie
and it will be over soon
and the credits will roll;
the lights come up.
..
this is just a poem
and will not end with answers
but only a question
to ask yourself:
what is your own best use
of your remaining time?
One with Clay, Image and Text 