Pandering to You

I wonder

if we,

vibrant and naive

can agree about beauty?

can we censor,

cleanse

rid

renew

this place

of all the shit

that stinks?

all the memories

that screw

the here and now?

We can be gods

or, we can just be.

Let things be

true

defiled

filthy

and real.

We have outlived

the antiseptic age.

Sprawl over-powers

the deep-clean inadequacies

of Oprahisms and cut-rate

Goop-fueled commercial satisfaction.

Revel in ugly.

Scour the Scandotrash of Ikea

for better lighting to shine

upon the earth, polluted

by light and more,

fraying the tapestry

of dark universe

betraying the narrative

of ever-expanding

unfolding

becoming

that made us.

Does the maker regret her work?

What reliquary survives this purge

of unsavory history

of being?

What truth shines absolute

from mosaics and murals

we have made?

 

I take solace in the notes

flowing from strings like a clear stream

which erodes the wearying

the way all rivers always do.

Done