by Glen Martin Fitch
Can cells sense something's wrong
when cancer starts?
The body as a whole
is self-contained,
complete,
compatible in all its parts.
Its function, features, fate
are all maintained.
What is this maverick madness,
counter-fate,
a tyrant spirit
rending all awry
to sap and warp,
confound and mutilate,
a manic mayhem
forced to multiply?
What kind of baneful guest
is so engrossed
within the selfish meeting
of his needs
to damn his future,
jeopardize his host?
Now everything that eats
and shits and breeds,
the very stars and waves,
and wind and sand,
must dread our gaze,
the moving of a hand.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 24, 2011