Monday, May 9, 2016

Moka Frio

May is summertime in Tepoztlan,
the hottest before the rainy season;
fresh, lush and cool.
Not one place I've lived here, palace,
or hovel, wasn't surrounded by beauty.
Only on Cape Breton Island was nature
more alive. Here nature is conquered
but beloved, an apache dance.

The poor chimp chumps that live in 
shade of skyscrapers...silly robots,
nature is for organic life forms.

How can humans spring from nature
and not feel disconnected when bereft
of it? Naked in my house, skin where
it should be between flesh and air.

Progress is a dirty word. We live longer,
but we live less. The species is diluted.
Survival used to mean something...
many were naturally culled.
Now the Subways are filled with 
subhumans eating bad cheap food
in the eclipse of human dignity....
already terminal in a playground of 
mechanical mood swings...robotic
learning only artificially intelligent.

Old men like me are crotchety, 
complaining curmudgeons because
nothing has "progressed", gotten better
in our lifetimes and long before....we 
see only plastic beauty in the malls,
a maze of virtual realities, language 
that obfuscates and deflects,
unwholesome avenues of 
entertainment meant to blind.

The barbarians that conquer us wear 
three piece suits. Their methods, not
themselves, have become refined...
slickly sickly covered mannequins of 
rotting mind.

Be aware!
Be aware!
Hug a tree if you can find one!
This poem is about love of nature,
hatred of arrogant rational, mind;
Frankenstein's true monster!
Sauve qui peut and good luck 
to us all!


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