At the top of Ward it becomes easy to see
the whole world as a basement. Down deep,
from an ocean trench, the entire planet
lauded simply as a series of arid peaks.
From every man, the control of woman,
for the unelected, government conspiracies.
From the rich, everyone needy and poor,
for the child, adults controlling everything.
Ours is neither the world of demons, persecuted
villains lurking around each corner, nor
of those who would do good if only
they were fed and clothed and cared for.
This angry diversity, struggles we’ve carried
in from the rain of our upbringing. What did we
dry for, if not our ascendency, nudity, willfulness
to launch off flesh and our habits and gravity?