5. Stephen Huff's Collected Poetry: 1991
Stephen Huff's
SOUR ON THE VINE
01/91
What are we, humanity?
We are insects,
whose nests are large and glow at night.
When we fly, our wings
are of metal,
and only the hottest stars
deny us.
Our eternal struggles
have become earth shaking,
our doom one of unprecedented misfortune.
Selfishly,
we grasp and claw
at the planet around us,
and our fingertips are torn by our need.
Our bodies are diseased with glut.
The purposes we once knew
have died the slow death
of grapes left in neglect to grow
sour on the vine.