When you belong to the people


No One Can Say What Your Work Shall Be



God of Impracticality, God of Nothing But Truth,
may I be useless in all things, save your service.

May I take care of my dogs.
May they be my only teachers.
May they help me in my nothingness.

May the word be adequate, nothing more.

The poem manifests its way in my hands open before you
in my commitment to our correspondence.

Provide for me a path of such uselessness
that I am left swirling in daily confusion
conforming only to that which is misunderstood
and to which I commit daily
with no sign of affirmation
from you or the world.

Make me the most useless
among any in the world who have eyes.

Jim Bodeen
January 6, 2006