Saturday, February 11, 2006

The Scientist

If the sun’s an automatic clock
And the fields just food producers;
If the workings of my mind are matched
By digital transducers;
If the air is only there to breathe
As part of an equation
And a flower is just another type
Of by proxy copulation;
If the sky and sea aren’t really blue
And a rainbow’s just refraction
And the moon is only there because
Of gravity’s attraction;
If love is just my awkward way
Of relieving sexual tension
And my heart is just a pump for blood
And God is Man’s invention;
Why am I writing this?

1 comment:

Jenny Lou said...

It's amazing to me how many physicians are artists. Your poetry is knock-down beautiful and you should keep it all in a bound journal for publishing.

Jenny Lou