the remarkable thing
about the national moaning
is its reach — soft as it is
it has been heard in North Dakota
as clearly as it has in Boston

it’s been cleaning skeletons
with its gentle scrubbing
they skip and shine
it’s a beautiful dance

we don’t want to know where it sits
or
who is moaning
don’t want to dance the dance

we just want to be told
the minute it’s OK to moan along
we have dead bones of our own
that we’ve never been able to clean

Yeah,
we got some bullshit in here.

All kindsa bullshit.
Someone painted it pink and blue
so it’s pretty, but it’s still bullshit,

and oh, shit, it’s that QUIET bullshit
that kinda lays there, don’t say much,
stinks up the place.

No one’s got the sense to clean it up.

Bullshit, they say,
is good for the garden, good for the lawn.
Makes it grow, makes it green.

Grass needs sun to grow
and it’s goddamn dark in here, so right now,
this bullshit’s not growing shit.

Except for mushrooms.  The good kind of mushrooms,
and that’s OK I guess
but when you’re tired of mushrooms
and cant’t take any more,

you still got bullshit.
And that, my friend, is bullshit.

Throw a bullshit party, someone says;
we can party, and bullshit,  and party, and bullshit…

That’s bullshit too.
Can’t party all the time
and when you’re done
you still have…

uh-huh.

So what are we gonna do about this?
Ankle deep, stink on our shoes and in our noses
a lot deeper than ankle deep,
knee deep,
neck deep. 
Too deep, it seems, to ever get out.

That’s some bullshit, too.
Only way to get rid of bullshit’s
to dig, and we’re gonna get dirty
(which is, in and of itself, some bullshit)
but I don’t know another way.

Here’s one shovel, here’s two —
one for me, one for you,
work’ll get done faster
if both dig through.

And that’s not bullshit,
first thing in here that’s not
been bullshit for a long time
from the look of this place…

Bullshit, you say?  You didn’t make it
this way and you’re not gonna be the one
to dig with me? 

OK…

get out of my way,
I got two hands, two shovels,
I might break and fall face first in it
but I’m gonna dig, first the stuff
I dumped and then yours if you won’t,

which is some bullshit,

but it’s not gonna stop me
from finding some place to put it
where it’ll do its part
in making something good grow.

That’s not bullshit,
that’s just

the shit.

They lay in distress,
crying

what has happened?

faces down, palms up,
ready to receive an answer.

It would not come that way,
but later, when they’d risen
and brushed dust
from their good clothes,
they turned back to see
and understood.

There was silence at first
as dust continued to swirl and settle
into crevices and throats,
stifling and muffling
and changing how they spoke,
what words they used,
the words themselves.

It is filthy, some said.  No,
it is impolite, said others.  It is
relegation. No, it is
stagger unbroken though bare trees
to the clearing and build a bonfire.
It’s hit you, hit them, hit there, there,
there and sign there.  Flag here,
scar there, bridge here, bomb there.

They resume the position — face down,
but palms down this time to grab the earth
like loose carpet and say again:

what has happened?