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The Deviation



Everything is glorious.
Nothing is sacred.

Open ranks, let the other in, at least into the laboratory
where experiment becomes experience.

Those who cull race ahead of those who create.
What some abandon is lost for others.

Where there was reason there is madness,
where there was movement there is stasis,

a loss of serious interest in justice,
a focus on what can be manufactured—

product,
profit.

No one sins without excuse.
No one earns without expense.

What have we done with our freedom?
Is the only free choice, ultimately, self-enslavement?

What caused us to dull so
that we had to make everything entertainment?

Is a retreat to imagination preparatory to creation
or mere deviation toward elation?

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.