You can hardly blame any life
On Mars for burrowing deep into
Polar molecules when you come feeling
Around Mr. Metal, Mr. Daily Planet,
Mr. Praise The Lord and pass
The Cherokee Removal.
Your reputation’s pretty well
Shot on this island, roots and diatoms
Are prepared to shrug you off like a virus,
Plutonium and wheat crouch on the rainbow
Bridge threatening suicide, the buffalo
Tongues are gone you used to gulp
Down all day with dippers full of whiskey.

You and your deep love for this planet
Touch everything. It’s all listening:
Dolphins and mice, quartz, rain forest
Mahogany, air and ocean currents,
Earthquakes and rain.
They all want to hear another of your famous
Torch songs. Sing the one where you kill
For love.