It seems as though I am posting more and more about obits. I’m not sure why–maybe a function age. In any case, tonight’s post is in honor of the poet Diane DiPrima, who recently died at age 86. Instead of going into her life, I’ll just reprint one of her poems from her book Revolutionary Letters.
Can you
own land, can you
own house, own rights to other’s labor, (stocks, or factories
or money, loaned at interest)
what about
the yield of same, crops, autos
airplanes dropping bombs, can you
own real estate, so others
pay you rent? to whom
does the water belong, to whom
will the air belong, as it get rarer?
the american indians say that a man
can own no more than he can carry away
on his horse.
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