from this week in October, 2006 (I was 61)
What we have we have to give
Greed is a seed that will not digest
No platitude can survive
the cynical appetite of gluttony
We eat each other out of fear
that we will be eaten
What value resides in the currency of the past
A few collectors pay quaint dollars
for essays on morality
written a hundred fifty years ago
when the land on which we stand
knew no one like us
The dream the adult tries to realize
is out of date before the attempted fact
before the bewildered eyes of his child
to whom the symbolism is obscure
The context inaccessible
as stilted dialogue from an old movie
Better to offer the silence
hidden beneath all our progress
in the depths of a cave or mineshaft
or under the weight of water
or within the darkness of space
unoccupied and un-interpreted
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