The gate has no bell,

no one opens when I knock --


It comes down to me.

Politics revolves

around trying to control --


our powerlessness.

We don't do any-

thing, we avoid rejection --


avoid rapprochement.

There's the nagging pain

of violence, and worse, of --


chatting about it.

How should I console

with the little cuckoo clock --


ticking in my head?

I can't handle him,

only could beat him to death --


but I can't do that.

I *****, I wail,

I'm bang banging with my fists --


Stop! Stop that madness!

It is a symptom

of political failure:


waterbed-swinging.

O celestial mountain, let me climb the stairs of patience
that the immortal front may be birthed anew.
Cover thyself with the robe
of the Ancient Root,
and with the Hood of the Worlds,
that you may hearken to the
winds of mystery
and the tremors of the stock of oneness.
Suffer time
to pass thee by
that the eternal sun
may shine upon thee.
Let the Mother of Eternity
give thee nourishment
at the seat
of powerlessness.

I don’t think I am writing
Anything of consequence
So is it worth it, emit

I watch the news I hear
That millions are without work
What can I do with this, misfit

I sit in my little ivory tower
Worried about my little bit
I don’t know how to, unfit

Is the world about to fall
Will the leaders stand up tall
I hope that good comes, sunlit

Fortunate I feel still in awe
I am living through a pandemic
I never thought I’d be, submit

I will manage to keep calm
And try to reach a bit
Writing is all I can do, *******