My proboscis is thirsty. It punctures the surface
Of the wonderful host. And the taste is delicious.
And success is now failure. What once was obsession
And delusion, has taught me to manage the damage
My destructively ravenous hunger has written
On the planet. The recipe calls for a cauldron—
And an ocean will work—and one heats up the surface,
And one bakes it in gasses. The tide is the message
And the script is of salt and the oil that is leaking.
I am drinking what's left of the host and the knowledge
Of the harvest is filling my beak and my body
Can contain what was left and unknown in that shallow
And too delicate cradle: an egg we have eaten.
“The latest attempt to contain the oil gushing into the Gulf of Mexico hit a snag Wednesday when a diamond-studded saw operated by an underwater robot got stuck in the riser pipe it was intended to slice off, federal officials said.”
– Campbell Robertson and Joseph Berger, The New York Times, June 2, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/03/us/03spill.html?hp
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