What does it matter
all this talk of love,
When at any moment
an entire species
can be declared
the enemy,
A war room erected,
An attack plan devised,
Propaganda proliferated
To obscure
The once simple, resilient life
Of a wolf or a wasp.
A mouse or a mosquito.

What does it matter
All this talk of truth,
When our relations are despised and blacklisted
The instance that commerce is interrupted.

This War against Nature
is the perfect place of projection
For all our inabilities to accept ourselves.

Take a book down from the shelf.
Read what the archaeologist has to say
About the Pomo or the Miwok
After he robbed the graves of souls at rest.
Can he hear the ghosts ripping at the seams
Of his rational reality?

Or read the treatise on “The Light Brown Apple Moth”
written by an entomologist
who has spent his entire life
devising ways to obliterate
that which he observes.

Oh! Scientist! Know this!
Neither microscope
Nor telescope,
Or a pinned down collection of corpses
Can tell you the secret of an Apple Moth’s
amazing existence.
Life’s mystery cannot be tortured
Into revelation.

Pray oh mantis for our souls
That we may lose are reason
And live!

By Magick