That thing you call the hearth


the day is not our own
it belongs to our hearth
our family, our society, our nation

nature made our hearts
public calendars, followers
of tribe, so when you lust

know that you service this
your honest thoughts may linger
but individuality is a myth

you are a part of history
you came from a mother
you owe your livelihood

to the city, to the nurturance
of friends, to the generosity
of employers, to the wealth
you scavenged how to speak
to the stars, but it only

brought you closer to others
not to God, not to any beauty
no, that left you long ago.

I voyage in a body


I go among the body
Of the world
I walk and breathe and talk
A roundabout human
Experience arriving forever

Passing youth together
To the sunlit center
Of a city brief
In the history of time
I go among the body

Of the planet
But I am a cell without
Knowing it, we have
This myth of individuality
It’s a pleasant thought

To imagine being free
But I am protein and blood
Like any creature
I depend upon oxygen and light
Water and the creativity

That makes my life meaningful
I go among the body
With a harvest of womb
And genes burning
For some journey

Like a dream I keep
Making children
As if the outcome is always
Better and special
And we break into

Daylight as always
Aware and alone
That the world is talking
About itself to itself
And not truly to us.




I want to go back so far that
I speak another Language
Sometimes I retreat into my Cave of scars
Only to find I bear witness
To the tragedies of history
I enact them in myself
In my private study of humanity


I want to go back so far that
The cell phone is never on
I am ripped-out from the grid
So I might feel a blemish of silence
And dream in primitive pure survival
Without the influence of others


With naked fingers I would follow
My bliss until all I could do is
Extend my loneliness into the world
As if I was the first to discover individuality
And the virtues of feeling separate
I have always wondered about
The left-over energy of a lifetime
Sitting there long after midnight
Burnt-out by death herself


I want to go back so far that
Caring becomes an impossible thinness
And love becomes the only thing
That is not filled with ambiguity.

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