Our lives here a disordered commonplace
– so let it be
what we must do unapparent & compulsive
– these are the cunningest things
but need met mud then something grew
– look, keeping moving balance with
the wider world, those relics of that green one
– once mutually sustaining
yes we are born with its memories still
– even here, the 3rd millennium
oh what a hopeless mess, a buzzy smog
– so let it all go
sometimes overwhelmed by nostalgia for birthrights
– we grow new things
constant creation our means of transformation
– so I here miswrite
we & all of us inside the fading of our failure
– live out each slow day
light playing no matter how greyly
– never halting what must be