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A PROTEST OF SORTS

Like The Rest Of You, I Get My Share Of Hassle And Harassment
And Invasion Of My Privacy By Electronics, Commercial Interests And,
And, And Powers That Be.  They Want To Know About You And me,
What We Don’t Know About Ourselves Or Even Care To Know About
Ourselves.  This Piece Created Itself, Within; I Thought It duly
Belongs To ‘Heart To Heart Dialogues’

And, you are asking me about my identity.
You want me to define myself to you, for you.
My dimensions, height, weight, creed, passion, hobbies, faultlines, peaks, furrows, dreams, frontiers and lines.
And, you want me to read my palm for you.
I haven’t read it myself yet, probably never will.
But you wanted to know of me, about me, even what I don’t know of myself at this time.

I walk, I talk, I leap, I ride the wing.
I climb hills and mountains.
I confide my secrets to roses and palm trees in the valley.

And, let me tell you, I once met a coyote.
Our eyes met.  We communed.  And he taught me of myself what I didn’t know myself.
And he told me true.
All were buried under concrete, in the pulp, beneath the surface, where my tender parts rest, slumbering, in waiting.

And, you still ask me about my identity.
I am formless, amorphous, part differentiated, part undifferentiated.
A mongrel of mosaic, native grown, seeds sown upon me as I wander the untilled, unplowed fields of life and roads of existence.

I am breathless now, so, I bow by the trunk of the tree to inhale the oxygen she breathes out from me.
I inhale, inhale, inhale, exhale, exhale, next to the trunk of the tree.
Its leaves and golden heart will process the whole thing.
And, if you still want to know my identity; Ask the Tree.

WITNESS TO WAR

THE ROAD THAT BIFURCATES
Choice!  Is Yours

And, on the road we used to stroll, along with pigeons, seagulls, crows, pelicans and dragonflies.  Do you remember the gardenias, jasmine, morning-glory and the jacaranda tree where the road bends?  But you left to another road.  And, you crossed the river.  On your war machines, you crossed ocean and sea, you took to the skies high above the clouds.  And, you invaded lands and continents not belonging to you…Ah!…And, my sister followed you, joined you.  And you and she claimed a mission.

When you came back bruised, contused and confused, I wept for you…But my fountain of tears, I kept for your victims…the ones you reduced, abused, tore apart, for a start before the incineration and demoliton…Ah!  Ah!  I felt pity for you, but my well of empathy goes to your innocent victims.  And my energy of compassion belongs to the ones you mutilated, pulped and shredded.

And, when you came back, you showed me your medal, but I turned my face away.  And, when I offered you passion fruit, cherries and flowers, you declined…clutched onto your medal…clinging to body parts…to body parts…to body parts…of others…of others…of others.