That Same Myth Told Again
A poem about the Anthropocene
I wonder if they know
this place needn’t be so mad
that these human inventions
are but arbitrary rules
that they murder their children for.
They could have, instead, laughed,
in the faces of empty suited reapers
And said, “my child will not die
For your eternal war.”
No matter the television
the game show
the cell phone
or iPad —
no matter the transistor
Automobile or CRISPR
At the end of the day —
It is by tribalism,
And who has the biggest bone,
that bury us all.
A grave dug ten thousand years ago.
For no matter race, sexuality, age, or gender,
no matter IQ or EQ or creative nights,
It’s always a lion, fear masked as rage.
They have forgotten all is flux.
They have forgotten,
they are a branch
from a greater tree
stardust, from a greater
supernovaic sneeze
a spectrum of diverse beauty,
At its core, it is but forgotten love
When the hungry clan hunts
and the final deer moans,
with an arrow-stricken voice.
Why can’t we accept everyone,
we can’t we love universally?
Is it our brains,
and its layers,
competing for choices?
Rationality and brutality,
an error in the codes,
a ghost in the machine,
to destroy is to control.
And in our horror
of a starving winter
we destroy life on every land
we package it up
in desiccant bags
deep freezer ice ages,
waiting blindly for
the coming of our fabricated Christ
to justify our thoughtless action
to explain why…
