finding a cure for irony
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not just irony
but all pathology of earnestness deficiency
a cure for sarcasm
that cancer of the soul
to nix the fixed dim outlook
of the embittered the disconnected
the on the outs with the petals unfolding
the unwittingly patronizing patriarchal
or hen-matriarchal
the sourpussing
to punch a three-hole punch
through that stack of crumbling acidic nonsense
to thread it neatly on the three rings of restraint
love peace and harmony
and to file it away in the archives
under the archaeology of humanity
up there with human sacrifice
ritual deflowering
child labor
carpet bombing
to bare-hand the fouled off pitch
and throw the batter out -- this time
it being out three
the last out
and if having to show for it is
an old shattered hand
then make it a make-love flower offer
to finger the lovely smooth hole of life aha
with a lovely smooth practiced hand
of understanding
and if more of us shatter fielding then
an olive grove in fruit
a fruit orchard in bloom
a forest clearing in the sun
to find the cure for irony
for the poison of don't-give-yourself-away
to take up warmth as cleansing fire
to start burning
to start seeing
quite from the beginning
