Crises

The--are we officially calling it a "meltdown" and not a "market crash"?--has begun to effect people we know and love. Our friends in Sydney have hit a rather sizable road bump, and I've begun to worry about my brother, though he bought a house after the bubble had burst.

Is it too soon to start talking about jobs programs? Because I think it'd be nice to, oh, I don't know, update our infrastructure? Maybe join the twentieth century before the twenty-first is done? And we could do a couple of quick little updates while we're about it (cough, passenger rail, cough).

No, wait, we've been fighting two wars for too many years now. I suppose we'll need to accomplish that mission first. I don't know about you, but I can't start thinking about these things for too long before my brain starts to overload the rest of me with information about all the other things that have to be placed under the SNAFU heading, and then I just start to feel like a grumpy middle-aged guy, and I'd rather not.

So, instead I'm trying to figure out how to talk about ecopoetics in a way that insists on process and practice and not topic. Can you have a feminist poem without women? It's a very similar question. In my own head, the practice is huge, expansive, inclusive, but I fear that other people hear "eco" and just shut down. As if the world, the universe, and everything in it is not enough.