cannot escape
the laws of predation,
their natural mix
of good and evil
every street I travel,
each corner I turn,
a provincial stew
of faulted creation,
the species evolved
to spend my youth
running machines
for the total harvest
and mega slaughter
of global devastation
tracking my path
of literary protest
and elusive migration
to these tranquil woods
where rabbit-like
I ramble awhile
for a mile or two
wondering if and when
my deadly graduation
could begin today,
fear the bad habit
of this inner child
whose weary parents,
Experience and Observation
know life after life
is the way.

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John Talbot Ross