New Life

Pockets left of life that hold
the story of how we are intended to be,
but much on these wild mean streets
needs regulating, as the primitive
lives desperately within.

What television ruts,
what automobile insanity,
what freeway slavery,
combs this century’s topography.

The words of a new life
that everybody seems to want
finds no argument here,
but the running to get it,
to find it, is every day
disturbing.

If only I could check
into a restful green room
and breathe through leafy walls
of forest glen, until the time
is ripe for the sacred
beginning,
starting with friendly ants.

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