by Eric Chaet

The priests don’t know who is a saint or who isn’t.
The professors can’t tell the wise from the pretentious.

The paid commentators can’t distinguish
between who is powerful & who is just a puppet
of those they imagine they’re manipulating.

The generals don’t know any more
than the pawns they send into the raging cross-fire
if their cause is righteous
or if their enemies are the ones shooting at them
or the ones who have recruited or promoted them
& defined the objectives of the war for them.

The engineers don’t know if what they are making
will serve the deserving or arm the depraved
even better against the deserving & bystanders.

The machine, salesman, mother are programmed—
however rapidly they’re processing data
& modifying their behavior & triggering effects.

The poets don’t know what the hell they’re doing—
but they’re not particularly clueless.




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