I know nothing, literally, will come of this poetry,
Of any poetry, all poetry, given long enough.
At least I told the cosmos what I thought of it
Before it swallowed me back into it. Humans
Like slogans, like “speak truth to power,” but
None of us ever has very much power
And that only for a few years and mostly
Over each other. Even the terrible force a pilot
Drops in a bomb over unfortunate neighborhoods
Does not come from us, nor belong to us,
Certainly not any one of us. That is to say,
There is power in the cosmos, yes, but not
In us, and if we want to speak the truth we must
Address that power, which will swallow us,
Having generated us, as if it were so lonely
It needed tiny chattering offspring to destroy.
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