While the Globe is Warming

You stop to say what you can.
Though you sometimes feel
half like a man – one-quarter a sieve –
and the rest a conglomerate

mix of whatever takes in or can give
the proportionate fix of perspective
that tells you what ought to erect
and what ought to stay down –

and otherwise helps to direct you –
remember the streets in your town –
and enough of your lusts and your loves
to keep poking around for relief.

This thing you call consciousness?
Prey to a merciless thief: or maybe your
mind is the varmint and everything
else is the innocent victim: poor

you or poor them – whoever’s at fault
is condemned: but so is the rest
of who isn’t. (Oh, savior be gone – or
be risen!) But everything’s fine

nonetheless. You manage to sleep
and get up and get dressed. You
shop and you pray and you plan.
You stop to say what you can.



for work previous to this blog, see (& follow whatever links in it you'd like):
http://kettelhack.poetry.4.googlepages.com/act