21

Man has imagined a fruitless device:
A system of systems that rule him
Even as he pulls the lever, twists the knob
That moves the wheel that collects the information
He treasures and trades; clicks and double-clicks
The mouse on the icon of his desire: groves
Of seedless fruit.

When has my desire been kept from me?
When has breath failed to come
To the centre of the wheel, the solar plexus
Whose holocaust is fuelled by song,
Whose lever's rejoicing; whose fulcrum, bliss,
Gives joy in a power that guides the orange
To keep and spend its seed at will?


© Dan Goorevitch, 1998