Then you notice the djembe’s
head is suddenly cracked,
split down the middle
and you wonder if there is any connection.
One of those days
that’s why we live in the city
that’s why we live in this world
any day you could lose someone close like this
or someone far some other way
it all depends who you know.
Is it right to remark so glib
on possible disasters?
It’s all far away,
right, it’s no one you know;
tune out, choose your channel
we readers are insulated enough
from our own words.
If ask whether to save the hillside
or your own people, which would you choose?
(I mean if it were possible to save the tribe
and eliminate the world—
so the legacy would go on without a home)
Who matters most,
the place or the people,
the map or the map-readers,
the territory or its lines?)
It’s all so quiet now right here
but so much is happening:
never mind what,
I can give you the numbers,
births, deaths, attacks, delusion,
think how many people the world over have nothing to
do!
And
if those who are gone had so much… [11]