WHAT ELSE IS THERE

So much remains we haven't seen

Painted: the snow, now, at 5:19-

A kind of lavender, while the sky

Still retains its twilight dye,

The blue that refuses to be green.

And then there's beef, with its obscene

Relevance to who we are and what we mean.

Bones, offal. No knowing why

So much remains

Unnoticed, unremarked, behind a screen

Of seemliness. We serve a machine

That serves our purposes: the eye.

It sees the day, and thinks it cannot lie.

So much remains.