Just Far Enough

You say:

there is no tribe who dance and then sit down
and wait for the crops to harvest themselves
and supper to roll over before the pot.

Since this is nearly all I have of yours, except:

we wanted instant revolution where all we had to add
was a little smoke,

I have to object that it wasn’t instant revolution some of us were following;
In the smoke of each our fevered breaths, we caught a mirror, we thought.

And saying this, I turn from my dissent;
Dropped upon the desert floor in tilted, fractured awe, lungshot,
Looking up wild-eyed, to jerk and start
At the hulking pall of new made smoke, unlike any other,
Departing no living vessel or sacred altar
Just far enough to spread the blame,
And a thin film of filth which colors you as well as I,
And all this pastureless concrete expense
Whirling, and jagging, and whirling,
Which never sits down and waits
As it forces the crop and rolls the supper and drains the pot,
Wasting nothing of what it claims, and leaving nothing but waste.

No, your criticism is itself… and not.

(via David Arora)