Poem #5 catches me up. Hurrah!
Do we stick spears in the bull’s eye,
that dark liquid wanderer that knows and knows?
No, it is money. The bull’s eye red
a red blackhole of consumption.
People are not people, not really
which means destroyers
of security, the health of real food
without poison or E. coli,
the lungs of the planet.
Consumers, which means
devourers of animals fed with excessive grain
shipped out from hungry Africa and dying Amazon,
with their own children─ the “piglet smoothie” ─
while we insist veganism
or even limiting to a handful won’t feed
of oil black as liquid night shining
like rainbows in street puddles slipping
down drains to the river of fragile fish
and pretending the dinosaur bones will never
run out─ there are leg bones aren’t there? Run. ─
of trees like oxygen doesn’t grow on trees…wait, it does
of every precious thing treated like it is some common miracle
it is no miracle at all
this improbability we call life
in the Way Up Universe all around
disconnected because we cannot bear
the dazzling stars so bright
because we forget what makes our atoms
makes our bones.
If we knew, we’d have to stop.
It is easier to go on as always
progress, you know
but not what we need.
Instead, we hide meanings of words
and waste energy, endearing time
to be certain
we’re never found out.
© 2014 by Robin A. Sams