The Human Animal

From hominid, coarse-haired, speaking the language of scent.
The evolved descent of this human animal.
In self-anointed superiority,
we picked blood from our teeth with fire to better clean our smile.
Gods, we made of the ability to break bone in spirit,
to set our teeth upon one another
and call it pride.
We name it strength.
We praise it as power.
We worship monsters,
the fruit of our delectable hate.
Boogeymen we swore we’d never become.
"How many times can a man turn his head and pretend that he just doesn’t see?"
I tell the bard Dylan, with shame and a bowed head:
"Every fucking time, Bob.
That’s how many."
It’s easier to kneel than to defy.
Easier to snicker than to sorrow.
Gutless terror makes cowards of us all.
Quiet is the dry drowning sinking in the amoral sea.
No kings? Ha.
We have butchers in silk.
Thieves in suits.
Maggots who have learned to smile.
The few who once whispered of corruption
have become many.
Heartbeat screams in their chests.
They wear it as pride.
Call it strength.
We keep faith with closed eyes and deaf ears,
pretending evil doesn’t exist.
Trusting all is right as we partition ourselves
to feed the behemoth machine we built.
Upon our knees, we cower.
We whet blades,
learn, with tear-lensed eyes
to adore the flavour of our own roasted flesh.
Picking our teeth clean
to smile again.