or Basic Goodness
I want to behave like the radio station
That’s coming in pitch-perfect, without distortion,
Without the fuzz and white noise of ignorance,
Without the screaming of the used car salesman,
“SUNDAY, SUNDAY, SUNDAY —
Every car must go!”
I’d like to behave like the Mozart that woke me up
This morning, the minuet, the oomp-pah-pah, oomp-
Pah-pah, the dancing feet of dead aristocrats,
Well-tuned and in-tune and tuned-in to
The music of the motion of the swirling —
Every song must sing!
The impulse to extend one’s self in speech,
To write an email, to proffer the poem,
To pluckily strike up conversation in the deli
With the stranger who looked your way, briefly,
“That Fage yogurt is the bomb, right?” —
Every word must utter!
Where does it come from? The positive
Instinct, the right word, the all-glorious
Intunement with one’s world, the sense of clarity
That seems to stretch back to Central Station,
Where all broadcasts begin, where all waves are born —
Every spark must spark!
