The rabbit
eats the grasses
The coyote eats the
rabbit
The black birds eat
the coyote's flesh
after the bullets
fall.
Everything feeds on
everything else.
So, what feeds on
us?
What feeds on all the
variety
the multiplicity of
us?
Are we dishes to choose
from?
Are some tastier than
others?
Are some sweeter
some tart
some bitter
others beatific
some well done
some still raw
some just right for
the having?
We live in a garden
growing with everything
else
grasses
trees
roses
cosmos
rows of slender succulent
roots
clumps of heady seasonings
some exotic
some essential
And there are cats
in the garden
chasing golden grasshoppers
that clack in flight.
There is sun
bright white and warm
in the November sky
There is the breath
the sigh of airs that
feed
the garden
and the garden feeds
the airs.
Overhead blue sky lingers
while clouds feather
the blue dome
with plumes of thin
transparent
vapors
that embrace us as
they fan out
from the west horizon.
There is balance
harmony
perfection
in this moment
here in the garden.
Somewhere else
in a far distant burrow
one creature
some say suckled on
madness
some say suckled on
devotion
runs rampant
and neighboring creatures
call out
Help us
Defend us
from the madman
from the devotion.
A meal is being served
up
in that part of the
garden
A feast of blood
And now
the menu enlarges
as bombs, bullets,
and gases
gather
There is power
There is random chaos
Is it part of
The rabbit eats the
grasses
The coyote eats the
rabbit
The black birds
eat the coyote's flesh
after the bullets
fall
Everything feeds on
everything else?
Whose appetites demand
the taste of war
the charred meat
the shredded flesh
the hearts and brains?
For the satisfaction
of whose palate
is the sacrifice made
Loss of life in the
garden
is sacrifice
A gift
upon the altar
of those who feed
on us
while
The rabbit eats the
grasses
The coyote eats the
rabbit
The black birds eat
the coyote's flesh
after the bullets
fall.
