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.
