another encounter with a conspiracy freak.
he's a good friend, but damn, all this talk
makes me think i'll go crazy, or be annihilated
by the illuminati and the one world order,
and a u.n. resolution to decrease the population
to a controllable five hundred million.
i'd rather my ashes scattered to each
quadrant off a cliff, i'd rather a mausoleum
inscribed with murals to unspeakable names.
i touch the sound of violet and wonder:
is there mischief to be found today, is there
a weekday where it shouldn't be so gray?
i'll find this. i'll scrape the earth with
mortar and pestle, grind each golden grain
in a quern and raise loaves in exchange.
another encounter which makes me queasy.