"You have to feed on something,"
they said, or I imagine them
saying, and I do... but I don't
want to feed,
at least not doing it to trade
in visible doubts for a life's
uncertain
drift between I am, and I'm not...
fed fat by the neatly packaged
carcasses
clearly drained and cellophane wrapped,
to keep unclean hands bloodlessly
far from mine.
I'm told but I won't hear, "We're more
highly evolved." We think therefore
we are so
discomfited by not knowing...
whether the fed-on think and feel
what we do
when life's last light runs out, taking
with it the green and red that played
over flesh
and bony because... if they do,
it could be, we're feeding on one
another.
"That's the unkind art of feeding."
Jan 25, 2010
Jan 25, 2010 at 5:57 PM UTC
"You have to feed on something,"
they said, or I imagine them
saying, and I do... but I don't
want to feed,
at least not doing it to trade
in visible doubts for a life's
uncertain
drift between I am, and I'm not...
fed fat by the neatly packaged
carcasses
clearly drained and cellophane wrapped,
to keep unclean hands bloodlessly
far from mine.
I'm told but I won't hear, "We're more
highly evolved." We think therefore
we are so
discomfited by not knowing...
whether the fed-on think and feel
what we do
when life's last light runs out, taking
with it the green and red that played
over flesh
and bony because... if they do,
it could be, we're feeding on one
another.
"That's the unkind art of feeding."
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