The Myth of Perspective

I’m not a wise man,

And you’ll insult me

If you dare call me that, but

I know what I’m looking at.

I know what I’m looking at,

And I won’t let it escape 

Behind the mask of a name.

I know what I’m looking at.

I see it chain and frame us,

And I know we aren’t to blame.

Hunger and hunger to death,

The tools with which it made us,

The weapons that became us. . . .

I know it’s looking at us.