A Beneficial Marriage

A reasonably romantic mind would wonder how
it is that, while we on the ground bathe
in the soaring words of our generals,
the world caves around, unsaved
by unreason, unloved in rations, digesting
only those bits watered
with feelings and logic. Since when
do unoiled machines work? And how

does that neglector of thought feed
himself? A universe in the hands of
technocrats grinds itself to grey mud while
the pastoral artist's eden starves
in love. A little change could do
you both some good; though I'd hate to
see the split of such a rigid embrace,
that dance of death
where you both look the other way.

(updated 8/24/08)