To The Young, Ironic Urbanites

San Diego/Portland

I love you intensely. I’m besieged by concern.
With your smoking guns and your travelogues,
you’ve conquered the world of this city,
empire extending as fast as your chariots run:
four-wheeled, nonstop,
signet-sealed, kings atop.
With your brash self-doubt and your mystic’s eye,
you’ve stared down the old of this city,
the senatorial class with their face-saving moralism.
Visigoths, Turks, Mongols, Moors,
armored, armed philosophers –
you have upheaved us.

I love you so painfully. I sink in your heartache:
your silence, your noise, your aberrant sex,
your visions, your violence, your art, your shit,
rivulets in this city spreading out, flowing down,
till they meet in the delta of accusatory beauty,
fields flooded by an indignant want of grace.
Your confident flowing is still disturbed
by your dependence on the water cycle –
God’s gift of sun, God’s gift of rain.
Will you pray? Will you dance?
Does your genius come unbidden?