The first stanza of my 1987 poem, CHANGES, is:
Stability
Never an option.
Possibilities
the name of the game.
I feel very unstable. Buffeted by the winds of major change. I know I SHOULD be attentive to world affairs. But, I want to run and hide.
My former religion told me what to read, what to think, and what to do.
I left because I needed to be free. To think for myself. To live my life for myself.
And, yet after 31 years of thinking for myself, I find my life, in effect, determined by some idiot who doesn’t seem to think at all.
Where ever I turn I hear the T-word.
T said this outrageously stupid thing. T said that. T did even worse.
Well, fuck T. Metaphorically, that is. My manhood shrivels at the thought of actually doing it. Uggggh.
Yet, if I want to be aware. And, I do want to be aware. Because awareness engenders life.
So, I needs must be open to CHANGES. Open to the instability.
But, please, can I do it tomorrow.
