we all want to know
"what's wrong with the world?"
but we don't want to hear the answer.

we see sticks and mud as trash
yet birds use them to
build a home for their families
as our ancestors did
now it's all fluffy pink insulation that looks like cotton candy
but gives you a rash if you touch it
now we build  sexier barbies and  
better weapons and tougher tonka trucks
and newer medicine
to cope
with the speed of
our world spinning

our inner ears are sick
off balance
because we hear but we
don't hear

so we develop vertigo
and stay in bed all day
avoiding digging ditches and answering e-mails
surrounded by our TV personalities
and down pillows
our pill box always within reach
while the world waits outside,

and we hear for a moment
maybe in the middle of a commercial for a mop
guaranteed to change our lives
to bring together our families
because there will be no spilled coffee grounds
or dog hair for a moment

and we know things are broken
things beyond the ache in us

so we follow the groan outside of our gated community
we stumble past strip malls  and churches
selling other types of mops to clean up our lives
we ignore the con-cars-saleman's spiel and
can finally hear the ocean in front of us

so we run to the water
we rub our fingers on sharp barnacles
clinging to slippery rocks
till specks of blood drips out our hands
and something in the red wakes us up
and we let the waves lick them clean
the salt waters heal

on the sand, barefoot
we spin
not because the swirling colors melt the
world into something transcendent
a little like seeing
skyscrapers reflected in puddles
not because drugs run through us
or the sickness is rampant

we spin
because that's what the earth does

we crush purple petals between our fingers
just too know they're not synthetic
to know the fragility of
things that grow

Don't medicate our minds
let the knife swiftly in
let it burn
let it bleed
let it be destroyed
and then let it bloom

Because that's what the earth does.