equal parts

Picture of the Day
yesterday | today tomorrow

September 20, 02001

who knew?

Where I Sit.

sitting in the sun
coming through window
just ahead of 9 a.m.
not much hungover
schoolkids play
across the street
nothing but joy
in their screams
the days keep
slipping past
memories recede
even the horror
of last week
grows benign
when seen
from this
West Coast City.

I sneeze.
somewhere, troops
are readying,
one mouth speaks,
40 feet respond
in unison, in uni-
form, United
States, just
following orders,
marching in circles
until it's decided
who'll pay w/
their lives so
that back home
tax dollars flow

          [phone call interrupts;

into military
contractor coffers

officers, businessmen,
and our elected (?)
officials decide
the fate of the world
over drinks
at the club.
"People are
they say,
lift a finger
to the barman
and shrug.

It was another strange day. Lately, every day seems strange. Received a CD for my birthday from good friend John in Houston--POET, a tribute to Townes van Zandt. The second track, TOWER SONG, performed by Nanci Griffith, set me to weeping. "You built your towers strong and tall, but can't you see, they've got to fall someday..." refers to a single person's emotional armor, but it's the same dynamic of fear, isolation, and selfishness that manifests itself in larger ways. Feeling a strong need to purge, I cleared off the refrigerator's year-long accumulation of magnets and mementoes, leaving only a small effigy of the towers and a sign saying NO ONE IS PERMITTED BACK TO WORK UNTIL THEY HAVE A GOOD CRY FIRST. Later, sitting outside in the sun, I came across this sketch and poem, doodled and written during a late-July visit to New York City. I remembered very well the peace and quiet that swept over me in Central Park as I wrote it, tho at the time I thought it was balderdash and felt too embarrassed by intimate bodily function represented to post it. Until today. I think it's time to get over our shame. Cry out loud in public. Share how we feel. Otherwise, off we'll go, like sheep, each locked in his or her own private tower, only guessing at how each other feels.