Clear the Table

We must clear the table,

All the tables, 

Of the clutter, of the debris, of the wreckage

Of everyday life.

Reality will not do anymore.

It hurts too much.

It’s no longer good enough

For us.

We must sweep the floor,

All the floors.

We must erase it,

Erase it all.

None of us is what we need to be,

No one.

We must clear the table,

There are new people,

Unborn people,

Coming to dinner

And our leftovers are not good enough.

We are choking on those leftovers.

Spit them out.

Throw them up.

The past is not good enough.

It is poisoning us.

Cut it out, leave it by the side of the road.

Keep moving

If the world offends you—wipe it out.

If your dream oppresses you—slit its throat.

Everything must be redone.

We must clear the table,

All the tables.

There are new people coming to dinner,

Unborn people.

And I am one of them.