A persistent geography
An epiphany of history
A bloody tear
In the momentary blindness
Of a sunshine daydream
Of what life could’ve been.
Instead we have
the normal crucifixions
the splatters of human brains
all over underground trains.
In my beginning is my end,
the starting point for music and art
the gulags and the camps
that stretch from Lahore to Orlando
passing the travesties,
the terrible suras of the Quran and Jewish
Testaments, from place to bloody place
from time to bloody time.
We need old words, older connections, the oldest ways
to pass this time of day;
to solve the sad geographies
Of unresolved philosophy.
Marcus Aurelius taught us long ago
not to feel exasperated or defeated or despondent
because our days aren't packed with wise and moral actions.
But to struggle back up when we fall
and to celebrate behaving like the merely humans
We truly are.