Problems usually come from us wanting to change too much in the external world instead of looking within.

My pieces scattered,
no more sacred
than dust
on the wind.

Lately, the outside
world has felt
cold, foreign,
and alien.

(Especially anything
American.)

Of course, being in this
wave of blue,
I would be hacked
to death.

I feel innocent in my arrogance.
A drudge to the syrup tin,
cheap and sufficient—
the honey hoarded.