The following poem is an exploration of the effects of a shifting social landscape. There’s a certain anxiety in the realization that your views define you in relation to others.
Where here there is an unsettling air, I once knew stillness and depth. The shifting plains of social certainty, leftward, to discussions focused resolutely on the prosperity of my fellow person. This shift pleases me in part, at least in that it acknowledges decency as core to a positive human experience. But the ground I've come to know as my own, well tilled and fruitful in rational exuberance, is now a toxic sort. The putrid aroma of sticking firmly to a new pole: the preservationist! Am I now a man of lesser salt? Am I now cast opposed to those I've observed so intently? Have my words become the weapons of your despair? The tendency of the world is to reduce complexity, to simplify in form and function and package you... Your ideas are a missive -- the short form to humanity, in which all you are is not, but all they see is. You want that my views are basic to credit your own thoughts. But your desire is no more than a manifestation of your insecurity.