If I was responsible

Allison Grayhurst


If I was responsible



I would sell my discipline for higher wages.

As it is, I blame the supermarket shoppers

and the crowds of Buddha-dreamers crossing the Himalayans

pursuing visions of acceptance.


Survival is a closed evolution – stealth and teeth,

a method where love has no allegiance.

I don’t want anymore, not spacecraft theories, not mornings

of self-defeating mythology or philosophical discussions.

I don’t want degrees of ecstasy or appointments.

I refuse to grow into a ghost or budge my integrity for

a bowl of temporary fulfilment. And here, I am wrong,

don’t belong with the wine-seller stockers and

the coral reef hiders.


I have a garden where I walk through the tall weeds,

eliminate insects with methodical steps like squashing

the patterns of horoscopes, a place where I crush

newspaper absurdities, sidestep the reactionary circle-act,

redefining my personal salvation.




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