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A Poem a Day to Millennium  22 September 1999


Forget about the space ships, Uncle.
as you dis'd the golden holy halls.
Extinction really is forever,
and the launching pad for miracles is right here --
male/female spirit intertwined,
interwoven with wild grass and the flight-path of birds,
wrapped up in a blue-green ball of ocean,
of child in meadow and meadow in child --
all spinning, all feasting, living, dying, and most important

There's only one other option, youknow
(and who needs that!?)
At the risk of sounding Puritan,
there really is such a thing as a wrong choice:
the one with crowds and long lines and ugly buildings,
the one that is increasingly (dare I say it?) square,
and doesn't roll
and doesn't rock.

Go outside the house, outside the mind
where the choices do.

If a stone tumbles out from under your hiking boot,
put it back where it was nestled
lichen-side up.

It's the only survival that matters,
and the only fair way
to keep on laughing.

- Jesse Wolf Hardin

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