Too many to count
Too difficult to name.

They greet me in the morning;
Say, "Hi. How are you today?
How can we become Them?"
Them always have it together. 
They're related to They.
They know everything
And if you're not with
They, you're against Them.

Human is the creature
Who does not remember
There was a time when
"Outside" was "Outside"
And not some digital image
Concocted on a canvas made
Of lies.

It yearns for sustenance
Buried deep in
Soiled forests but
Will not take the time
To harvest. 
Woe to the
Creature who is looking
For approval in
Sweaty bed linen
And overpriced vehicles,
She will become her shadow.

Gifted tongues ululate
At crescent moons, surely
Their voices will be heard.

Human is the creature
Who smiles in your face
And sharpens a knife
Behind your back.
It is unprepared for
Danger and never has a plan. 
I bow, this species so thick
On my skin, 
Washing it off would
Be suicide.

Photo Credit: Art Wolfe, The Human Canvas