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It is difficult to take the heat off

if you are in the line of fire

but you can always keep the light on

underneath the coffee pot.

No matter how things shape up

the ruling class will always be

kicking around theory after theory

like some modern method of

fortune-telling. One could dig up

a mountain of gold, but one will be

mistook for a prowler, always living on

the other side of the tracks,

fraught with danger, like a child

riding a glass bicycle in a dark alley,

like being awake in a nightmare.

It is said that one shouldn’t run away

from something unless one knows

what one is running away from, but

often times when one takes the liberty

in finding out whatever it is,

it is like inserting one’s head into the

jaws of a lion—one enormous nuisance,

like trying to break through a

padlocked door. Danger often lurks about

in silence, planting distrust in one’s heart,

the way that a mosquito may land on

one’s flesh during the night, sucking

“in peace.” In this modern “dim age of

barbarity,” I just want to cut an Eden

into every home, quicker than the blur

of an ancient raider’s blade, giving one

something better to look at than the

daily decay.