The Fork

Peace joy love ease poetry (no money
in it)
earth air fire water, and the spirit in 
you and me -
antique levels enough
of knowing and correction,
blood ties and intuition -
to reject this world's bad currency.

No.  I choose
other than their road, those 
beliefs they show me, paths they
wave me down.  I choose
the other fork: 
the unused track that leads to overgrown
ground, disorder through no clocks, no stores,
no bank accounts, no towns,
where all can come
and mingle with dishevelled days,
discover all the marvel that exists 
in earth and air, sea and sky - marvels
dimmed and plagiarised 
by too-bright scientific eyes,
and too-great arrogance of classifying
all we see.  Not for me
that road, those dim rooms.
I avoid the goad and go
according to them, the wrong way,
happily.

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