Missing the wildness of my younger self
I degenerate into words. Waiting, between
sentences, for the muse to catch up with me,
I fulminate, flash like lightning, explode
So that I catch myself thinking this
Is all an act to compensate for the time
Brian climbed that tree before disappearing
To Japan, for all eternity. I wish Haiku was true.
A cherry blossom flash of inspiration
To cancel out the impure repetitiveness
Of so-much empty rhetoric in public discourse –
Those who claim the mantle of Bertolt Brecht
So easily forget that every human life is sacred
Even those whose opinions we despise
Open up our eyes to the holy imperfections,
That make us love all that is frail, human, broken.

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