Driving Under the Influence, Too & Also

Washing off  the blood of the lambs the past few weeks—

reading through journals, term papers, creative translations, 

Basement Writers  submissions, & final exams,

Binge &  purging the end-of-semester purgatory —scrubbing

spins of the farther reaches of imagination un-impeded by the

rigor of   disciplinary constraint: your hard core courses

demanding a reputation to sustain & so: weedy  whim

and wit  abound, melancholy introspection galore,  

flights of  fancy dragons, dungeons &

environmental cubbies.

Imagine a collection of D.U.I ‘s  designated  to take

Remedial Driving,  required  (with some community

service)  penalty for operating vehicles under the

influence; and  they might be lawyers, doctors, artists

musicians, bank tellers, insurance agents, Sunday school

teachers and professors, college presidents, mayors and

used car salesmen—all together gathered to study proper

auto-motivation:  their common cause occluding the rich

variety & many splendored diversity each would otherwise

bring to the classroom, irrelevant to the task-at-hand which

is getting sober about driving responsibly

or else.

        Soberly, they undertake their instruction.

            On task.  Aiming for  AA (All A’s)

Now, say, the sober agenda is scuttled: reform reversed for

reckless abandon, give it up, let it be out of control, move

on down  the road of excess leading toward the palace

of  Wisdom.

   

Between Egypt and the Promised Land:

40 years of wildness. Full labor. No

Caesarean delivery.

Manna maybe, but none  you can  squirrel away. 

Eat it on the spot or forget about it.

And it turns out the Promised Land is full of Giants.

And it turns out the Promised Land  is Egypt all the

time and  always was.

Full of giants, damnit, and you got to killem.

So to speak. In manners of  speaking. .

.

(Trying to describe what it feels like to cluck if not
chuck  convention, tweak common sense for idiocy,
knowing better but unable to do other wise. Thinking:
wait’ll they get a  load  of this, they’ll love me for it how
else would  one risk foolishness?

A new trap for  mice and men. as if  my difference

would make a difference that would make a difference.) .  

“ I. would like to believe that imagination counts more

than knowledge,” she writes. I say: “it’s not what I know

that counts but whether I can put IT in play.”

Individual Salvation                     Social Gospel

 Pro Life                                         Pro Choice

Existence                                        essence

     2 Economies & can they Just Get Along?