AVANT SOUL

We are all in the mosquito-bitten swampland
of humanity's torn cloak and ripped and crazed emotions,

and dragging the fortunes of the world through the ragged mud,
and the rags, and the thrown/mud and rangy mudpies

and mudpies-in-our-eyes and tattered, torn, moaning/bitching
complaining, kvetching, whining/shrieking, humming mumbling/whispering

chortling hoo-haw of it all, 'tis no big deal, think nothing of it, and be NOT
disturbed, nor troubled, for Creator shall always tune another jalopy,

and as we spark and fart and blow ourselves to greenhouse pieces,
all the while

crashing planes and firefighter towers
crashing the economy and being crashing bores,

not to mention crashing and trashing the environment,

you need only do this
for me,

and sing a little lullaby to your grandchild, and kiss

the garment of the moon as she streaks across the skies,

and blow

a dandelion's seeds to the winds on an undeveloped meadow,

and with a glass

of cool mint green tea
laced with three drops of undeserved optimism,

pray for the radiant silliness

of the human race to keep going

and keep writing poetry

and keep fighting
courageous battles


all the while knowing that the real worlds lie within