we, as a people, as a species,
are a deeper truth than countries claim.
we, as a species,
have made ourselves obliged
yet we somehow ignore this planet itself,
as anything more than a staging area,
as for audience support
of our eventful lives,
as in our endless series of wars.
all of which is superficially endowed
with humans' full attention
and selfish funding.
all that time and energy
of human consumption,
misdirected,
away from caring for the planet directly.
there is a request to clean up,
more than our adolescent mess,
to gain a respect for
and an honoring of,
beyond our species selfishness.
we seem to opportunistically seethe,
as hidden premises of disregard.
we play, as if a species
of only-child syndrome.
no other species talks to us,
for we only really listen to ourselves.
we mock all other possible conversations.
they all may say in their own way
but we only hear what we want to hear,
as our interpretation serves us .
yikes, what a predicament of composure.
we rant and rave amongst ourselves,
somehow celebrities of self recognition.
we then live lives of hurtful pride.
we make reality the pretend of our desires,
massive false premises are put into play.
we had people of our species
who knew better
but we found methods
of profound disregard.
now we have lone individuals
who sense the truth
but become the singular drops
of planet nurturance, ignored.
instead we have governments
and corporations,
contingencies and bureaus,
that all play off of each other,
as relevancy has a self intimacy to it,
that defies and disregards,
that has the strategies
of self-importance as primary,
captured within
our species false dominance.
we are a sick joke, unto ourselves.
everyone of us knows that,
but we always have the options
to live going forward in denial.
we self talk to our own rhetoric
and its own myopics of response.
maybe this is not our own home planet.
and we are just in pursuit
of a grand exit strategy,
that we all get to fully participate in.
we are the vanishing act
to surprise ourselves
with summoning departure . . .
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