Sunday, May 13, 2007

What Else Is There?

Tom Disch (1998)

So much remains we haven't seen
Painted: the snow, now, at 5:19—
      A kind of lavendar, while the sky
      Still retains its twilight dye,
The blue that refuses to be green.

And then there's beef, with its obscene
Relevance to who we are and what we mean.
      Bones, offal. No knowing why
          So much remains

Unnoticed, unremarked, behind a screen
Of seemliness. We serve a machine
That serves our purposes: the eye.
      It sees the day, and thinks it cannot lie.
          So much remains.

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