farther and farther

farther and farther

away from your goal

Paul Simon sang

he was slip-slidin' away

I thought he was crazy

or a pessimist, still

after all these years

there's no conquering that hill

warplanes, cafe jazz

the warplanes are not blotting out

the cafe jazz, here at Blackbird

I'm certain, where the buildings crumble

there is no music but jets above

bombs below, and roadside explosions

I am fortunate, as so many find themselves

even the tiny sufferings and shame

that mark my charmed existence

are small enough to be immeasurable

in the jetsam and sputum of history coughing

washed down the gullet of time

inconsequence and grace

make me more fat and comfortable

than I have right to be

to be honored

any spectacle

worth honoring...

      not the tacky red gaud

      of TV reality

      not your derisive laughter

      nor your feeling superior

      in how you live --

      punching into the world,

      knifing the air in front of you

      with a clean nose

...but a window

onto a slice of life

so sweet and charming

so full of baby's s laughter

and old man's wispy beard

the hand that rocks the soul

has held the infant Jesus

while Mary relieved  herself

in the brambles

that hand reached in

and pulled twenty men

out of a collapsing coal mine

everyone deserves transformation

but not all should be inducted

in your heart, holy of holies