Speeds along its cratered path;
The passengers are gray and drawn;
Their brains and hearts are long since spent;
They clench their teeth against the dawn,
And wonder how they'll pay the rent.
Three million years, the human race,
And nothing ugly, evil, wrong,
But finds a place in Lot's wild eyes:
No vacuum absent from this space
Where chaos screams its random song,
Against which only terror vies.
Oh let me screw these sightless genes
Into some circuit in the sky;
Let every molecule be shrived,
Transformed into a seeing eye.