Sometimes

I just need to be left in peace,

alone,

to myself

on this slippery slope,

this glide path

to that warm and cosy pyre,

silently forming, with my mouth, like a fish,

the words CONSUMMATUM EST,

fooling no one anyway,

having a last go

at Stuart A. Kauffman's Reinventing the Sacred

(particularly chapter 14 and on, for which the book

up till then prepares us)

and one of the sublime paintings

by asylumer Augusta Strömberg (1866 – 1954),

leaving the free world to Donald Duck Trump

and his shipload of fools,

watching him defecate in public on Times Square

under the rule of law and the smiling faces

of the Founding Fathers,

well knowing that his brain is a sore

that needs healing,

but that a borderline condition like his

cannot be cured, only, in some cases, kept at bay,

simultaneously realizing that his unruliness

and unpredictability

in good cases may reveal a creativity

of great proportions,

like Richard Nixon's trip to China in 1972,

musically rendered in the opera Nixon in China (1987)

by John Adams and Alice Goodman