Prometheus by Joshua Katcher clay, oxide, glaze
No the universe distilled is no mirror.
And we are no distillate of any brew.
Hinges of space break like the hyperflexed jaw.
A mouth gaping at its own sound and genius.
Words floating off like a riot dispersing.
Is it a sickness to see no obstacle?
Prometheus a fountainhead a horror.
What filters we’ve grown in our eyes and heads.
All creatures fair game to our arrogance.
Diversity nulled in the shadow of West.
It seems that no green can get through to the heart.
It seems we’ve forgotten just when we were smart.
It seems that the future is falling apart.
Was civilization a fluke from the start?