somehow the world

superman’s dead
and so, now, is moses
and cool hand luke
and our brokeback fantasy
along with, some might suggest,
every soothing shade of blue that ever used to exist
and somehow the world still turns

they’re building another ice rink in this frozen shinny-obsessed city
but new orleans is still under water
and well-intentioned kids are still comin’ back in bodybags
and my sister
my sister just found a stone in her left breast
and somehow the world still turns

we meditate & self-medicate
over-eat & super-annuate
we’ve lost our ability to articulate
but not our inclination to hate
yet somehow this world still turns

we forget how to play
forget we ever knew how to pray
find ourselves craving human touch
then we wonder why we drink so goddamn much
and somehow the world still turns

we start to wonder if we’re losing our minds
— or is it just our credit that’s slipping away? —
as we install plasma screens in every child’s bedroom
and cell phones for every plugged-in waking moment
of every toxic shrink-wrapped day

we ask what’s the catch?
what’s the deal?
what’s the point?
and
why don’t we go out dancing any more?

and yet …and yet … and yet …
the believers still find reasons to celebrate
and the romantics are still howling at the moon
and you and i
you and i are still on our feet

and the liars, they never stop pretending
and the bombs, they never stop exploding
and the poets
the poets are having trouble sleeping
and somehow
this world
still
turns