A Debris Field of Apocalypticians—A Murder of Crows
       

The fact of suffering is not a question of justice.
Belief in God is not a disease.
Our father projections met and disaster ensued.
Earth is our only time machine.

Our mother projections met and disaster ensued.
Everyone is sick from what we made.
He wanted you to ask him how he felt—
he didn't give a shit about your Umwelt.

But your heartburn, biome, phone bills, research—
your temperature, heartbreak, dust mites, checkbook—
your live ones, loved ones, languishing spider mums—:
they just needed some shit
                                            to make them grow—

The fact of suffering is not a question of justice.
Everyone is sick from what we made.
You watched monks change sand into a Palace of Time,
wheeled through an age of unpardonable crimes.

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Copyright © 2016 Dana Levin All rights reserved
from Banana Palace
Copper Canyon Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission