Perhaps we should stab an evil person
and then go to a church or temple or mosque
and ask one of the holy people we find there
to excuse our behavior based on the idea
that it was the knife's fault.
Probably we should stare at clouds instead
and tell each other which dead president
or extinct species of beetle
that one over there looks like. No,
the other one. The other other one.
Reading the news these days
make me want to put my head
under a lawnmower for the peace and quiet.
Also a bit of the suicide
would be nice. Just a dab.
I don't really want to die
with my boots on. First
I'd have to buy some boots and second
I'd have to go to the boot store
to buy some boots and third  
I'd have to buy a horse to go with the boots
and I don't have enough room
for my depression as it is, let alone
my depression on top of a horse. Evil people
doing evil things. Maybe what I meant to say
is we should stab an evil person
with the stuffed bear they were probably denied
as a child. Whatever. We have to try something
don't we, to make this a better world?
Not a batter world, not a bitter world,
not a butter world, although I can see merits
in all of those. A better world. And no,
not a world where you can bet
whenever you want on whatever you want,
though we seem to be going down that road.
Vegas will let you slap dough down
on anything, even the when and how
of the apocalypse, though not the why.
There's no mystery to the why: because.
And what would a better world look like?
That's easy: different.

It's useless to speak of peace. Firstly
we don't know what that is. Secondly
we don't want to know what that is. Thirdly
I like to count. As long as there are

         a) maps
         b) men
         c) men with maps
         d) sticks or stones or guns or any kind of metal
             that can be hammered into a pitchfork or blade

there will be war. Then again it's useless
to make my bed, since sleep
will take it back to the wild, but I do.
Or to kiss my wife, as she will immediately
and at all times I'm not kissing her
be unkissed, but I've accepted the challenge.
Kiss is a word that sounds
as if it's trying to be a snake.
You think we'd be afraid of the hiss
in kissing but we're not. Many are afraid
of blacks if we're white, of communists
if we're capitalists, of the left handed
if we sign our checks the right way, of Jews
because isn't it fun to have someone to blame
for poverty and crime and high humidity?
An accurate definition of human
would cast a spotlight on the word
stupidity. I'll tell you who I want to kill:
the bastards who make fun of the saying,
Make love, not war. They should be shot
or hung or tickled to death
with confetti raining down
on their naked bodies in the parade
we'll throw for everyone
not coming back from the war
that never happened. If we ever have
one of those.

Fighting tyranny, for example, doesn't work.
You might as well try to teach the sun
to be afraid of the dark. It's too big a goal.
Like what school of bench pressing
begins with a million pounds on the bar?
You start with ten, a hundred. You eat an orange,
take a dog for a walk, think of irises
as a manifesto, go to a rally and burn a candle
and chant a chant. Extol the value of hair
to skinheads. I don't want to read Mein Kampf,
but if you want to read Mein Kampf,
I won't piss on your lawn. A purpose, I guess.
A reason to cross the room.
Looking at a single tree as my responsibility,
a pond as needing me to go to bat for it
when the city council wants
to change the zoning laws.
Do we really need a heliport, maam,
or a center for advanced barbecue studies, sir?
Maybe we do. Maybe I don't know shit.
But ignorance is the cause
that makes me want to keep a go kit handy.
My ignorance. Yours. Imagine if you learned
one new thing every day. The balloons
inside you would rise a little,
you'd be more interesting to cats,
and soon wonder if the world
will ever stop surprising itself. I say no.
I say zither is a fun word. I say
burning books is attempted murder.
How often does an idea that goes up in smoke
return as a fist? Little things, such as stopping
as you're about to throw the match
or considering you may be wrong
about the best movie ever made. Casablanca,
really? Wrong about almost everything,
just like me. Except trying harder. To listen.
To hold doors open for otters
and ghosts. To understand what leaves
are saying to the wind. To be deserving
of the giddyup of your breath.