It’s Hard Work …

It’s hard work to stay well to say hi you good couple more days and I’ll be well again hard work to talk hard to live as if hoping is still worthwhile work. For my childrens children. And for all children

It’s hard work to hope with the deluge reaching and over-reaching and we’re all still standing in the ankle-deep sludge downstream, arguing.

So much oil under the bridge, so much coal floating downstream, so many poisons soaking into our soils no it’s all good we can make it tech will save us

So much worry, words words words, worry beads and plastic bangles plastic nodules. Nerdles accreting barnacles as they float wither weather wind-driven across an ocean of plastic film and ghosts of sea life

So many islands shores coasts mangroves maldives rocks and reefs atolls and bird sanctuaries buried

So much delay anxiety about the future deaths of children bombings wars steel splinters and torn molten metals looping and lunging

So many floaters that the dead shoal under the bridge where finally the ocean receives us and our molecules and receives our ashes and our atoms

The ocean? No more than an elemental soup

But our souls? Where will theywe rest?

Is there a purgatory wide deep aeonic enough to gather us all in to stew gestate lumpify petrify turn us into crystals of negated promise?

You see why it’s difficult to decide to be well?

Why it’s difficult to want to turn up? To say hi with a smiling face, make bright talk, a cheery welcome?