Priority.

 

Most everyone has got at least one.

Some folks got more than they

are willing to admit.

While others choose not to take on

any at all. 

 

Some people form groups and these groups

base themselves around certain priorities.

Priorities like saving the planet or the right to bare arms,

or being body weight or gender rights activists.

Some groups make it their priority to go

after other groups whose priorities are in disagreement

with their own. 

 

Some folks see this as a sport or a way to pass the time.

 

I think priorities can be like puzzle pieces, which

in this poem makes society the puzzle.  And people, well they

just keep trying to push their priorities into certain spaces

where they just don’t fit.

 

Which ends up creating a lot of puzzles

that remains incomplete.

 

There are other types of people who take on a priority

just because it feels like a good thing to do.

 

These types of folks are everywhere too.

 

And this whole thing about poetry and this city has always been a priority

of mine.

 

Cause this is,

just what I do.

Actually

Actually

 

move, move to motivate a fractured world

a world that too often in a time of need

sits dumbfounded upon

its own feeble hands, hands that too often

and otherwise spend days woven together,

as if clasped hands could actually catch mercy

or if mercy and compassion could actually

arrive out of grasping, grasping onto our internal nightmares

instead of actually reaching out with stretched arms

and open hands, hands ready to catch, to comfort or

when necessary actually take a bit of control

of the chaos being instigated by those with

clasped hands or those who still sit upon their hands

equally aware and yet uninterested in doing anything,

anything but clasping their hand in contemplation,

contemplating the end of the conflicts that confine us all

but without actually getting off their asses, to do anything to

help motivate some sort of cohesion for this

fractured world.