BETWEEN

Behold the pinned, veined, black, spread batwing
of the animal brain! Cringe ye, who yet jot Volks-
wagen when the doctor prompts, automata? The world’s
changed: no angels at the top end now-and you?
Cheer up,
sap, what’s slime for but its own fearsome
supercession? And me, now, hearing voices, caught
smack between
these sudden volubilities, this vox
clamantis of the brute creation-whales’

tales, dolphins’ doleful chirruping
or the poor chimpanzees’ chump semaphore
on one hand, and the awful Bedouin
ululation of the telephone and fax,
the awful invasion-of-the-body-snatchers squeal
at the other end of the line: sleepy microchip
stirring awake at last. You see, my fear’s
your fear. Not animal citizenship, or the manu-
mission of machines, but ssst: a moment: who
are you? I think one of us is human.