Keep close every quarter moon.
Straighten out your dorsal root.
I don’t want your words,
and if I’m not mistaken,
you don’t want mine.
We walked in this room
arm-in-arms,
armed with déjà vu bombs
and forgot why I came,
like so many times before.
There is much work to do,
but not around these parts.
Get out of the factory and
back on the farm.
Feel the soil in your soul.
Roll on downtown,
windows down, windy hair.
Wind is the only one left
who knows how to care.
The cadence of every third Saturday
rings like riddles
of rusted bilingual lust
in the Library of Tongues.
Our Lady of Æquanimitas,
we beseech thee!
Revive the Earthways!
Reclaim Imaginations!
Reform the Nature Deficit!
Right our Roles of Real Work!
The last reserves of secret dreams
are wearing down the Word.
Finally. For good.
Recess is back in session
for all seasons.
Welcome to the Alliance for Self-Actualization.
