Friday, May 12, 2006
We Need Revolutionary Beauty
Little light green buds
pushing out the tips
of forest green needles
of a pine tree
at the corner
of 67th and Garden Home
Pinecones
open, brown, a little fuzzy
drop seeds
the lives of future generations
mostly eaten by
birds, squirrels, insects...
Life, Rebirth, Beauty, Tree Sex!
Besides,
you all know how I feel
about little green buds!
The trees
on 67th
are so beautiful
as their leaves
push puffy clouds
into the skies.
"Everything is so GREEN!"
A yellow iris
a lilac bush
a viny pink rose
greet me
on the way to my bus stop.
A woman on the bus
talks on the phone
to a friend
about a Tibetan man
at her work
that she seems to be
interested in.
How sweet and Beautiful!
I look at the rings around the necks
of pigeons in the city of Portland
as I head to the Burnside Bridge.
They are shiny
like the Northern Lights
like an oil slick
in a puddle during the rain...
AND THERE IS AN OIL SLICK
ON MY RIVER!
THERE IS AN OIL SLICK
ON MY RIVER!
WHAT THE FUCK?!
MY SOUL HURTS AND I WANT TO SCREAM!
I WANT TO SCREAM
INTO DEAF EARS
UNTIL MY THROAT DRIES
AND I GO HOARSE
and lie exhausted
on the Burnside Bridge
above an oil slick
that would flow beneath
my wounded soul
above a river
much more wounded than I.
But I don't fall...
I come here
to report to you,
on this day
Friday, May 12, 2006, 8:10am
as I type this
at KBOO
20 SE 8th Ave,
Portland, Oregon
just blocks form the oil slick
wounding my sister
our sister
our river
named the
Willamette River.
And everyone walks by like nothing is happening.
People jog, walk, and ride bikes
on the East Side Walkway.
People walk and ride by me
on the Burnside Bridge.
Everyone is continuing to drive by.
Hardly anyone gives a fuck!
FUCK!
There is even a man fishing!
His line in the water
just feet from the flowing slick
which he doesn't even seem to care
is there.
No one needs to tell the people
"Nothing to see here.
Move along."
They've been trained
so well
here in the land of
freedom.
The only people
who seem to care
are me
and a news chopper
that flies up and down the river
as I cross the bridge
above the slick
on MY FUCKING RIVER!
WHAT THE FUCK?!
But Eric
at Grendel's
reminds me
that the chopper
is probably monitoring
traffic...
and sadly...
I believe he is right!
No wonder it is so hard
to get the Revolution going!
And I want to create Beauty!
Because we need Beauty!
Beauty will get us through!
Dancing!
Flowers!
The budding and leafing trees!
Noisy dogs!
Birds in the sky...!
Beauty
is a
Revolutionary
Act!
pushing out the tips
of forest green needles
of a pine tree
at the corner
of 67th and Garden Home
Pinecones
open, brown, a little fuzzy
drop seeds
the lives of future generations
mostly eaten by
birds, squirrels, insects...
Life, Rebirth, Beauty, Tree Sex!
Besides,
you all know how I feel
about little green buds!
The trees
on 67th
are so beautiful
as their leaves
push puffy clouds
into the skies.
"Everything is so GREEN!"
A yellow iris
a lilac bush
a viny pink rose
greet me
on the way to my bus stop.
A woman on the bus
talks on the phone
to a friend
about a Tibetan man
at her work
that she seems to be
interested in.
How sweet and Beautiful!
I look at the rings around the necks
of pigeons in the city of Portland
as I head to the Burnside Bridge.
They are shiny
like the Northern Lights
like an oil slick
in a puddle during the rain...
AND THERE IS AN OIL SLICK
ON MY RIVER!
THERE IS AN OIL SLICK
ON MY RIVER!
WHAT THE FUCK?!
MY SOUL HURTS AND I WANT TO SCREAM!
I WANT TO SCREAM
INTO DEAF EARS
UNTIL MY THROAT DRIES
AND I GO HOARSE
and lie exhausted
on the Burnside Bridge
above an oil slick
that would flow beneath
my wounded soul
above a river
much more wounded than I.
But I don't fall...
I come here
to report to you,
on this day
Friday, May 12, 2006, 8:10am
as I type this
at KBOO
20 SE 8th Ave,
Portland, Oregon
just blocks form the oil slick
wounding my sister
our sister
our river
named the
Willamette River.
And everyone walks by like nothing is happening.
People jog, walk, and ride bikes
on the East Side Walkway.
People walk and ride by me
on the Burnside Bridge.
Everyone is continuing to drive by.
Hardly anyone gives a fuck!
FUCK!
There is even a man fishing!
His line in the water
just feet from the flowing slick
which he doesn't even seem to care
is there.
No one needs to tell the people
"Nothing to see here.
Move along."
They've been trained
so well
here in the land of
freedom.
The only people
who seem to care
are me
and a news chopper
that flies up and down the river
as I cross the bridge
above the slick
on MY FUCKING RIVER!
WHAT THE FUCK?!
But Eric
at Grendel's
reminds me
that the chopper
is probably monitoring
traffic...
and sadly...
I believe he is right!
No wonder it is so hard
to get the Revolution going!
And I want to create Beauty!
Because we need Beauty!
Beauty will get us through!
Dancing!
Flowers!
The budding and leafing trees!
Noisy dogs!
Birds in the sky...!
Beauty
is a
Revolutionary
Act!
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