A kidnapping and face slapping (summer 2006)

I wish this cameraman
would turn his lens on you
Push through
The famous worldliness
And external ambitions of honest good.
To see through the smoke screen
Fields of green
That seem to turn childcare to child’s play
And navigate through
the clouds of magic dust
display your tragic lust
the not so mild ways.

But how can I judge?
In red carpet awards of Nobel human help, you wrap yourself
Against that wall of publicity, tenderness, civil servant-ness
can off hand rumors bare to even slightly crack?
The flack of former friends means nothing when it contends,
And “ex –loves” -- well you didn’t love -- so when it ends,
The scarring is their own fault.

I wonder if your tourniquet
is wrapped so tightly around your neck
That you cant speak, let alone breathe,
conceived
a plan to save yourself
each action “for the good”
like a robin hood, but the story stands slightly altered
as you give the riches to the poor
and then rob them some more
plundering spirits
on the other side of bedroom doors