Saturday, June 16, 2012

Poem for the posthuman commensals

the fields lie all fallow
the harvest is done
the cats are all feral
the mice breed and run

the barns tilt and bow
filled with swallows and owls
the chimneys are crumbling
swifts flood through the cowls

the cellars are sodden
now spiders hold court
the carpets are rotting 
and beetles make sport

the beds are unmade
the pantries are bare
the bug and the moth
must now seek other fare

with Germans, Norwegians, 
Americans expired
the rats and roaches
chart brand new empires

ghost fleets in the harbours 
list, founder and rust
the seal and porpoise
do not find it unjust

though lost in the shuffle
some lice a few mites
few lose any sleep
over parasite rights

the house is still home
for the finch and the sparrow
but no more will be built now
for time is an arrow

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