Moving Violation
When I walk thru a field, I notice a muskrat
or crow, cornstalk, clouds--such a reduction
and sacrifice of the whole which I ignore to
pay my deficient attention to what serves
my business and agenda.
It's as if I nail down the fragments that call
to me and obliterate the rest on an ongoing
basis (are you there when I crucify my lord?)
all of which has to die, so to speak, in order
for my few impressions to live.
The slaughter is continuous: me rip-off artist,
moving violator--a crime against the whole
and holy. Corpses galore, as it were: everywhere. .
Science, in its childishness, ignores the constant
crucifixion it takes to smell a flower, pet a puppy,
receive the color purple.
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