Missing the wildness of my younger self
I degenerate into words. Waiting, between
sentences, for the muse to catch up with me,
I fulminate, flash like lightning, explode;
So that I catch myself thinking this
Is all an act to compensate for the time
Brian climbed that tree before disappearing
To Japan, for all eternity. O! I wish Haiku was true.
An apple blossom flash of inspiration
To cancel out the impure repetitiveness
Of so-much empty rhetoric –
Those who claim the mantle of Bertolt Brecht
So easily forget that every human life is sacred -
Even those whose opinions you despise.
Open up your eyes to the holy imperfections,
That make us love all that is frail, human, broken.