CHEMOTACTIC

It has always been
A matter of feeling -- chemotactic --
In spite of all the drugs and analgesics
There was a century of pain . . .
The acrid cigarette,
The effervescent ale,
The aromatic cup of coffee.

One moment we would seek
An epileptic orgasm,
The next a transcendental selflessness,
More near to death than sleep,
The self-inflicted lack of feeling,
A kind of five-and-dime Nirvana,
And still we could not find a balance
Between the ever-present pain and ecstasy.

Is it not a matter of feeling
That I may swallow carrots alive
But reverence is sought for earthworms and butterflies?
Our generation loves to catch itself
In inconsistencies.

But I repeat it is the feelings,
The hurt, the happiness,
The hollow helplessness of anxious fear,
The flush rejuvenation of the sexual thrust
Extending life and feeling
To future generations.

One need not understand
Machinery to drive,
One need not pursue philosophy to live.
Life in its greatest triumph
Is self-fulfilling.
We, with all our dark misgivings,
Are driven on.

Jay Cohen