Tuesday, September 29, 2009


Still from Peter Brook's The Lord of the Flies (U.K. 1963)

Bees buzzing all around
Flowers implode with scent and wretched sorcery.
And time.
The natural world is full of ordered swine
And time

And us,
With what manipulation of science did we ever distend
And call it science!?

With what do we, as we still do it?

I think we are like Golding's Ralph, not spared for his equanimity nor resolve
--for either would have saved him,
But for Good Fortune.

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