I’m trying to write a book
and it’s not going well; I no longer feel
any connection to my main character
whose awareness of environmental issues
makes her a raving madman in polite, illusioned company,
much like I was two years ago.
All the facts, statistics,
important names and dates,
educational analogies -- they’re all still here
inside me, but the whole thing’s been dissected.
Rewired. Disconnected from the emotional brain
like drifting continents. There is no urgency, no passion,
only hard, rational concern. Someone says tipping point
and I’m just numb, tangled up
in cold curtains that veil
The psychological immune system
hard at work, I can now state my belief
that the way we live is completely unnatural
and that humankind will soon be extinct
with a calm smile.