"The ugly human"

The ugly human
knows it is. In everything
unnatural, it sees itself
in hatred: bliss

It sets itself
against all this.

It sets itself as alien.
It cuts itself a break, of course.
Unthinking every now and then,
it does enjoy its cultures
and its arts, for what they're
worth, somehow - producing
artificial joys - it relishes
emotion in the meaningless
significance that we employ,
collapses with relief
into connection,

when it finds it can.

It wished it all could be destroyed.
It wished it didn't have to be.
It wished there was a way to, though.
It volunteers to take the hit, if only all of it

were purged, undone
and scoured somehow free.

It feels in all the ways it shares
by accident, design and plan
with all the vile things we are,
that call and crawl this Earth
we gnaw like chicken bone,
to understand and ruin it,
and make it real - in ways that it
should never be. If only we

were not at home.

Oh what a wonderful world it could be
left by itself to wildly roam. If only we

did not stick out so much

consuming everything, intruding
spoiling everywhere, especially

the way it feels.

life could be grand
if only we'd leave it alone.