Chance Is Such A Scornful God

This morning

I heard the black news
of a killer crash
on the main line,

I saw a sweet car
garrotted under the strangling wheels
of a red-respecting juggernaut,

I met discordant blue
flashing alarm
on someone
knocked down
and still.

What should I believe?

That Lady Fate is having
'a bad hair day',
so people have to hurt?

Chance is pure,
a scornful God,
the God of science,
the only God to give
predictable result.

image: po

Dylan Harris
97-99

it's my hands
my difficulty with melancholy
hence the coldness
fear in flight, god
dog sea
push pop
all
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