If separated on either side
of a barrier, two live heart-cells
will sync and beat in time.
And the deer all winter
follow each other
past your kitchen window
every evening – one
venturing first and the others
trailing in line. “Too bad
technology has overridden the soul
and we can no longer experience
true thinking. Not even
the President has power
anymore.” You share this fact
with the doctor who is monitoring
your heart. He could
perform an ECG from three feet
outside your chest if needed,
the electromagnetic force
of the organ is that strong. “Really,”
he says, “our hearts could
each power a small light bulb.” “Now
that would be a useful technology,”
you say dryly, “But seriously,
there’s no escape from all this
madness but to abandon the whole
doomed ship of modern culture
and move off to the jungle.”
A return to primitive, real life.
Fruit and sex and weather
and genuine work. Illness
could be mystical again.
You could even sleep out
under the glorious stars where
a snake the exact diameter
of your throat would find you,
crawl in through your mouth
and devour every system.
