Dust Poem

The idea was. At least in theory, Dust was a bad thing. There was a bowl Of it. At another Point in time The conclusion Was reached That everything Was of it. No season, no Nothing to measure To measure against So no love or hate. Left us without no Moorings or so my Father told me Vanity tables of it? Isn’t that what a vanity Table is for? What happens to As its failings accrue? No mission but to be clean. Of itself. But existing (time) And problems there – The problem of now We are back here. See the whole dust problem’s No measure. All’s dust, check. All’s virtuous, check. So why not live it up then? And thus, YOLO etc. etc. {These fok whirr pretty smart. Thing is, even in The dust bowl, the Idea, a very American One was that something Wasn’t dust. I wasn’t. The Bowl wasn’t. The dust wasn’t. Since Ecclesiastes, Been trying this one on. (how’s that working out for you?) One needn’t be geologically Or for that matter Psychologically trained to Begin unpacking the diffident And sometimes strained Relation the nation holds with All that is vanity.