Sometimes I use language
The same way
I use toilet paper.
Sometimes that's a necessity.
Other times I use language
The same way
I paint escapisms and fantasies,
Which is also holistic.
When a hinge theme is found
In this dialogical discourse,
The spirit of freedom rejoices,
And sings odes of joy.
Thus I elevate trash,
And beautify the worthless.
I turn dross into gold
In an alchemical process.
Revolutions can then occur
On spinning grind stones,
And flailing galaxies...
They can happen in coffee shops
Where intellectuals
Thrash their papers,
Like chickens in a chicken coop
Who excite a storm
Of dust and feathers
Because of an approaching stranger.
Could it be
The blissful ignorance
Of the average American?
Of whom the rest of the world
Wrestles to get the attention?
Or is it just
My philosophical arrogance
That assumes this,
And the rest of the world
Really could care less?
The grinding stone of life
Doesn't stop for just one mortal man.
Yet perhaps a course shift
Of one degree
For future generations
Will make all the difference.
eVan––January 15th, 2011
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