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.