Fix It

Trying not to dissolve
Is not the solution,
Or is it?

I am stymied
By the problems in the world
As they tend to take up
Residency,
Disrupting
And corrupting
The truce of peronal peace
 I have fought for
(As if one can fight for peace.)
It is so easy to let
Those demons dance:
They are happy
To twist and turn,
Some sort of maniacal macarena.
(Noisy neighbors,
 shut the fuck up!)

And then to be bombarded
By the bombastic news,
(Somewhere out there
Everywhere out there)
Of hatred and cruelty
Fear and famine…
(“It’s not my problem”
Is my problem)
My mind says, “fix it!”
Just let go of your shit
(my shit, your shit, our shit)
And fix it.
Let go indeed.

And while fix it
Means fix you,
Fix me,
(aka see the truth, known the truth,
The very music we dirty dance to)
I spend my days
Head under the sheets
Or running off to some pretty place
Trying to save my very soul.