Then you notice the djembeís
head is suddenly cracked,
split down the middle
and you wonder if there is any connection.
One of those days
thatís why we live in the city
thatís 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?
Itís all far away,
right, itís 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 worldó
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?)
Itís 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 muchÖ 
|1||Ten years ago the machines failed us as no one was in charge.|
|2||The looming subsumes us from war to peace.|
|3||You remember the story (itís not yet over)|
|4||The voice of the wind,|
|5||Thereís an old swing set rusting in the woods.|
|6||Someone blew up the mountain|
|7||The old order is turned asunder|
|8||A bomb left a hole gaping at the street corner|
|9||The philosopher has returned to his homeland|
|10||You enter the room and the day is still sunny|
|12||What changes is the will to change|
|13||One song after another, not to impress,|
|14||If youíre driving long enough|
|15||This age of ours always hangs on|