I don’t know if anything matters when my neighbors who don’t look like me are devalued. This isn’t late breaking news for me. Here’s a poem about disability in America.
Walking around my study with a blind cast of mind…
I write in the mornings when the flowers are just ideas
The abiding chancel of Sunday is an idea
My dog sits beside the desk liking middle distance
I jot a few phrases—up river, low sun
Think of Allen Ginsberg who once touched my shoulder
This is a test of the emergency love system…