Catastrophe, #98

Plugged up in endless cables
connected by wires tipped
with gold, prongs in power strips
lighting lamps lit on tables
pumping limitless stable
energy, copper shipping
electrons bumping zipping
along till we’re all able
to see in the dark, recharge
our batteries, tell stories
over distances too large
to keep connected before,
old college buddies yelling
out from distant dwellings.

If that were the main present
of energy, those old bones
and gristle broken down, honed
into oil, their descent
into the mantle accents
the aroma, the moaning
of lovers, ecstasy shown
through lamplit eyes, dark alone.
If this were the major use
of fuel, we would honor
the fossils. But our abuse
in the form of commuting
and bad reruns and hours
on the internet sours

the memory of great beasts
who lived for endless eons,
who chewed stalks at the dawning
of our ancestor’s release
from the bonds of hunt and feast,
who died and whose decayed brawn
breeds contempt and war, who spawns
wars of might and right, the least
best reason, not just travel,
not just staying in contact,
but comfort, owning dwellings
so big dinosaurs intact
could rest in our living rooms,
live on the mounds we consume.

We’re too big for our britches,
too old, ugly, complacent,
on oil too dependent
and too dumb to target which
people eat too much (the rich)
and what will put a dent
in our own tumbling descent
into this bottomless ditch.
It’s okay. Nature’s waiting
with new designs, unveiling
newfangled kin, creating
a beast that eats our stale,
fat and muscleless corpses,
licks our bones, reminisces

about when the earth was blue
and bipeds roamed, built cities
of concrete and glass, pretty
structures long collapsed. Who knew
such dull-witted creatures through
and through, who spoke such witty
stories at parties? Pity
they needed to be subdued.
We can credit their demise
to two things, first their lack
of wisdom, they who devised
a society on stacks
of paper and stored up wealth,
second the idea that health

could be achieved by the brain
thinking up new and vicious
ways to keep itself thrusting
forward. Their own bodies, bane
of their existence. Insane,
that’s what I’d say, he would lusts
for gluttony; disgusting
vile, ignorant and vain.
By the end, their schools turned
out only business majors,
all artists and art were spurned,
scientists shunned as old bores
(all they left were CPA’s
and ledgers, now on display).

If we had eaten the fossils
to call home, to make statues,
make artwork from the refuse,
to build monuments and skills.
If we’d found a way to fill
the empty pit we confused
with hunger, honor the muse
of emptiness and goodwill.
Perhaps we could have unplugged
the heater, idiot box,
air conditioner, unplugged
the addled vision that blocked
our view of friends, family, earth,
the engine of our rebirth.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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