Queen Disks Hermes Beaver - Collapse Poem #1

I think I might be trying to write a series of Collapse Poems, and I'll post them on my olde blogge.

"Collapse Poem #1"

The temptations toward silence catch me up.
I know about the Terrible Triangle--
Easy-access oil easing into history,
impending collapse of all kinds of stocks--
fishery, currency, speculative, whatcha got?--
and of course, global climate changes.
The PErfect Storm buffets the shores
of insular denial belonging to most of us.

I can't help but sense it all amassing,
but there's other craziness to appraise!
Will we be boneheaded thugs and attack
Persia's conttemporary legacy?
What vaporous demons hold our erstwhile
rulers' minds in thrall? Such nuttiness!
Reason would forswear silence? Or perhaps
that would be enabling and fear? Whatever.

America is done! Over! Kaputt!
The ideal of neo-Iroquoisans--
Franklin, Madison and Paine, et al.
whose forebears were as much Hiawatha
as John Locke--that imagined America
exists in many folks, from Vermont
secessionists to the relocalizers
focussed on the earth beneath our feet.

We are all on our own, but together.
Imperative need, to radiate warm smiles
to folks as yet strange to me. Neighborly
affections that lead to knowing, despite
the sadness I feel about my urban landscape,
not knowing how many will see the April 5
three, five, ten years hence. Just how
will ratcheting down expectation proceed?

Will it come through suicide or disease,
murder or starvation? Internecine wars?
Those who love me share their concerns
when I describe myself as optimist facing
today's tricorn concerns. I recognize
hope is a fool's prospect, to foreclose taking
lifegiving actions. O strange Trojans, Albanians,
Schenectatoids! At least I have your backs!

I'm not much, of myself. But let me say this:
No one of us singly, is more intelligent,
more resourceful, reasonable and humane
than all of us together applying to common
purposes. The nation, the state, the counties
as of yet have not yet hit their bottom.
But I do know the deep agony. I'm here--
let me help you through it, as you'll help me.

Twelve years next month I've marinated
in Twelve and Twelved church basements.
I've uncovered my addictions, some most
unreasoning like those Evil White Powders
Sugar and Flour, some oh-so-easy to dispense
such as Codependence. I've awakened now
to larger compulsions than these yet:
Empire seems to be Addicts-as-Rulers-Amok!

I admit I am powerless over Empire--
socialization, domestication, civilization--
and my life has been indeed crashing
itself into Unmanageability's cliffside.
I didn't cause it, I can't cure it,
I most certainly can't control these cancers.
And I seek to find most elegant surrender
to the higher powers that will restore me.

No, I can't, the God can, I shall let her.
God Herself at the center of the cosmos,
with all her emanations and radiances
Assist me that I may offer succor
and testament to local-divine ways.
The middleman meddlesomes of nation-states
and beglobed corporate sterility
they shall fold with your gentle, sweet breath!

I pray humanity's awakening
to the power within and next door. Your bones
and my blood, our skin, brains, gonads--
Sources of power, pride, passion and self
in addition to el sexo dulcissimo!
These will lead us back to the ground beneath
our sensitive feet. Let us all open to love's
difficulties and catch each other in our falls.