It’s the question humans have asked since We started asking questions. Oedipus felt Royally screwed when only life could convince Him the blind guy was right re: the deal dealt. And the whole ordeal in the Garden–we all know That sooner or later one of them was going To eat that fruit, invent shame, and go Full binary–Hey! Your fig leaf’s showing. And has it not been a blame game Ever since? –pointing outward to the source Of our problems. Destinee said some lame Shit, so I had to slash her tires, of course. So yeah, I had a choice, but she made me, And look how free will done played me.
While the future is always in the mystery Category, a year ago there We’re greater odds that a view of recent history Could provide a reliable map to stare At as one move forward to a desired Outcome like traveling to Norway, Or if you’re an actor like me, getting hired To tell stories to a theater full of play- Loving listeners. I know philosophically That we never know what tomorrow holds, But before all these catastrophically Blunt lessons, we ventured how it unfolds It also frustrates me that the future is not real. ‘Cause something to look forward to– that’s the deal.
The tenderest hurricane I ever met– Category live-wire connected To all conductive elements. When you set Your course, alert the weather service–affected Parties (like your brother) take cover. The force of you is beautiful–my hope Is that I provide sufficient anti-hover Padding as you dive-drop from the top rope. Dang, kid, you’re strong. Diaper time resembles A rodeo event complete with deft doodoo Dodging. My heart laughs as it assembles Your fiery traits and your soul’s orange hue. The red is for love’s blood pumping intensity Mixed with yellow’s laughter light density.
These YouTubers who moved off-grid And live in restored cottages in the west Of Ireland or the Faroe Islands bid Me welcome as their curious, questing guest. “How do you have internet?” is my first Query, but soon after that I’m asking– Is there a wooded idyll like I’ve rehearsed In my head near mountain trails, while basking Very close by is a sun-warmed coast? Oh, and ready accessibility to A major live theatre market, a host Of museums, public transit, and a sunrise view? I’ll crack open the Google and see what I find. Zillow: three bed, two bath, Hobbit-designed.
Somehow you know I only managed to get Four hours of zzzs last night. Thank the Lord I had the foresight to grind you up and set The auto button before bed. Poured Into my favorite mug (milk first) My newly-recovered nose neurons rejoice At that sweet olfaction meeting me with a burst Of “you know you need me” in a sweet, velvety voice. Indeed, when the morning roast is low in the tin Everyone knows an emergency dispatch to Trader Joe’s for well-priced fair trade is in Force–or I’m a headachey first grader. I’ve quit you several times but always return. You just percolate, “When will you learn?”
You’re a two-and-a-half-year-old reflector Reminder of all the parts of me I forgot, Suppressed or maybe healed–my psyche deflector- Finder sweetly gathering flashes of what I was, like leaves along the greenway. Your Gentle spirit examining elasticity Of limits with an innate need to be sure Of intact animal crackers, the felicity Found in predictable patterns, and a fascination With angels points me back to to times when I spied Light portals in cumulus clouds, elation At the sounds of choirs I knew were from heaven side. You are fully yourself, and in your you-ness Every day’s a chance for re-membered newness.
I notice, my love, the more we nest together In this sequester time, the more I want To go in search of twigs and twine to feather Our den. My truest friend and sage savant Of this oft-confusing soul, sitting with Your legs resting on my lap is the sweetest Of the spots. When you get pissed or take the pith Out of stories I sometimes tell myself (defeatist Tales based on past fictions) I think– Look at that–shes angry and standing Right there–not going anywhere, brink Of despair or highest peak–my safe landing. I know folks don’t get this lucky, my heart. That’s why locking this down was really smart.
An augur in ancient Rome studied signs And bird behavior to discern a proposed action’s Favorability rating with Latin divines. Many have been auguring outcomes, respective factions Prophesying destruction while others predict Improving days. I don’t know about The future, but the image I choose to depict With my day-gifts is a canvas on easel, out Where colors and drawing methods I’ve yet to learn Await my sight-gift. We are all beginners. This clock tick, and this. You see? Yearn For the kingdom that loves and makes the losers winners. There’s been an inauguration we haven’t esteemed– The one St. Matthew told and Dr. King dreamed.
The thing we misunderstand when we say things Like”we’re divided” and “there can be no unity” Is that we are joined by infinite strings, Like it or hate it, much like the beloved community Of my nostrils welcomes oxygen that fills My foot blood. Try it on and feel the pain Of that statement: your sins, needs, and ills Are not mine–I’ll take care of my main Man–me. And we wonder why our cells Attack themselves in this place built by jumping Over people we knocked down, ignoring yells For help–insisiting my drumbeat keeps thumping. When the lungs tell the heart, “you do not belong to me,” The spirit must vacate in the absence of We.
As far back as mid-childhood, I’ve had Side-fat hugging my guts like cozy chain mail. This faithful foam belly blankie holds mad Thoughts, muffles gut yells, and keeps the jail Cot soft–a detention center cemented together By juvenile infractions and judgments handed down By a very junior justice. Inquiring whether Or not I could see the case files, I’m told The Crown Has sealed the records. (My psychic incarceration Takes place in a British crime drama.) This Reminds me it’s time to watch an episode Of The Great British Baking Show. Swiss Rolls and scones. Yum. TV a la mode. These loyal chums have always stuck by my side. It’s objectively true–everything is better fried.