Now is not the moment
to be rounded off
by a turn-of-the-cenutry
childhood memory,
to the expiration
of your favorite aunt; not
the occasion to elucidate
a painting of Degas.
I'm not suggesting that we pass a law
against the past,
or try to close the factory
responsible for making sense,
-only that it might be nice
to wallow in the present for awhile,
it might be practical
to occupy the molecules
in the very nether surface
of your fingertips
at the instant they make contact
with a cold doorbell
or a warm girl. Do you
agree?
All the time we've saved
since we stopped praying for our souls
hasn't filled the hole inside
the human gut; hasn't stopped
the human nervous system
from being very nervous.
But maybe,
if we listen very hard,
we can find the point of intersection,
the precise frequency and wavelength
where history stops repeating its directions
and leaves some room to breathe.
It is a simple task-
just the job, on any given day,
of raising the whole world
above your head
one aspirin, one teacup,
one traffic ticket at a time-
the way a volunteer might raise his hand
to apply for evolution,
even though it means
the possible extinction
of his former personality,
even though it means replacing
what is right in front of you
with what is right in front of you
again and again
with a vigorous persistence
until the moment and the room
seem to run together
in the composition of a country
you could stand to serve.
Oh lord,
allow me to continue
to preach your gospel
of rock and roll
among the deaf and dear defeated
creatures of the heart.
Shield us from the fear
which translates as fatigue;
retrain our minds
from their unhappiness,
and make our lives the theatre
for many strange delights
for which we'll twist and shout
and sometimes even sing
as if we didn't know the meaning
of the word
responsibility,
or as if part of our responsibility
belonged to joy.
