Traps

Traps

Don’t fall into the traps.
Death and some other things feel so comfortable to slip into.
A field of poppies on the way to Oz.
You will forget your inner sinews
And search only for fine fabric for your soft skin.
Lulled by civilization
Into forgetting your totem animal.

Don’t fall into the traps.
Traps that don’t look dangerous.
The ones that smile
and hold out a hand with a steaming mug of coffee
In a cozy room with rain
dripping down the windowpane
Pattering on the roof.
Don’t take it.
Turn and run.
Run faster than you ever have before.

College town of Tempe, Arizona
Small, safe streets lined with boutiques and Coffee Plantations
The city offers such comforts
That you may forget
The ground beneath the twinkling Pleasure Island
Was once sown by ancient people
With seeds, bulbs, drumbeats
Lava and dinosaur bones
And rocks so still
That nothing but the wind sighed through them.
The brightly lit shops are built upon the Indians’ land.
People stroll miles above, unaware, forgetful
As the lattes and face creams obscure
The vestiges of a war cry far away.