#213: Poem: The Worst Kind of Animal

Warning of Ragnarök


West Glacier, May 12th, 2023 – P#811


the poem comes out at night
whether the poet likes it or not

connections are made
others destroyed
this cruelest game
when the muse

holds the writer
in its thrall:

the sense here appearing
is removed from most thinking
beholden to feeling
to primal
darkest truths

in which
it may become clear
what this poet is thinking
or, at least, what the poet is not hiding as well:


locusts like we’ve degraded the world
in all our impotent stark blustering
have we abdicated any and all
for this mess:
this chimpanzee, their third evolution,
much starker, more naked, much darker, less sacred
a life, taken by them:
the worst of the animals we are
betrayers of our kind
slaughterers of our kindred
make we the planet
uninhabitable for all:

oh, what fucking piece of fucking work is fucking man
fuck you, you warmongers,
fuck you, you apologists for worst any crime,
fuck you, complacent ones, seeing a crisis as an amusement,
fuck you, us all, unable, too cerebral, too classy, too timid
to talk about this

without our muse
and some additional help


and damned be, damned be to hell we
should we fail
to write, to speak, to act, to rule
when deeply needed

woe to us
if art remains art
and life remains life:
for the two need to mix
for everything
is political

// //

so do it then, act
as if there was no tomorrow:
for there may well be no tomorrow
if silent and complacent we stay