Reality, The Oppressor's Tongue.

There Is No 'the Truth,' 'a Truth'--truth Is Not One Thing, Or Even A System. It Is An Increasing Complexity.

It's Exhilarating To Be Alive In A Time Of Awakening Consciousness; It Can Also Be Confusing, Disorienting, And Painful.

And I Ask Myself And You, Which Of Our Visions Will Claim Us Which Will We Claim How Will We Go On Living How Will We Touch, What Will We Know What Will We Say To Each Other.

When The Landscape Buckles And Jerks Around, When A Dust Column Of Debris Rises From The Collapse Of A Block Of Buildings On Bodies That Could Have Been Your Own, When The Staves Of History Fall Awry And The Barrel Of Time Bursts Apart, Some Turn To Prayer, Some To Poetry: Words In The Memory, A Stained Book Carried Close To The Body, The Notebook Scribbled By Hand--a Center Of Gravity.

I Do Not Think [poetry] Is More, Or Less, Necessary Than Food, Shelter, Health, Education, Decent Working Conditions. It Is As Necessary.