Because we are good and have always done what we are told we awaken diligently to our morning labor dutifully we accomplish tasks we do and plan and do tell me I did well, teacher give me a good grade Whittled down to mice, we are industrious creatures scratching out our miniature plans
in the pointless dust
in dank cavities of attics or basements
possessed by our little goals
like plump seeds
robotic rodents
we twitch and scurry
Even in sleep our minds are contained by the squared corners of the box we tremble with striving dreams
for years, years we scratch and scuttle constructing our tower of twigs
Until finally one morning we lurch with age
sag with pain
and remember what we forgot
what never made it on our To Do List:
to touch each other’s skin to devour color with our eyes to blur our borders with flaming tongue with searing melody our ravines quivering exalting the throbbing sun to swim the green and pulsing seas shriek with skies scarred with cobalt clouds swirl and churn with the wind-lusting trees to cry and crave with earth to drink the soil of our bodies to free the voice like a swallow:
opening the portal to God
when was the hour
of delirium
of the ravaging
of the rage and ecstasy?
