Winding lanes of simple houses
Clinging to the sides of hills are
The city I saw: I chose
The everyday over the exceptional,
As is my way.

We spill into open country,
Taking town with us,
Topography seeming to matter
Less than economy, learning
To subvert the form and
Make a home of anywhere.

The land is tamed, but not
The relationship that we
Deny like an affair, feigned
Ignorance opening the door to
Ignominy time and again.

Perhaps someday we will see
That we kill our dreams by
Giving them form, turn solutions
Into their own problems, rely on
Ingenuity we simply don’t have.

We dive headlong into
Rabbit holes and wonder
Why we can’t find a way out.

The past is fetishized, but
The present ignored, and so
The future is more of the same
When what we need is
Something new.

Concrete optimism was just
Cosmetic: the perfect disguise
For business as usual,
The illusion of change hiding
The steadiest of states.

12/15/2020

Posted on 12/29/2020
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince