Teaching Bioethics

(for poet Arun Kamal)

Longevity is a longing for an unknown biological future—
at first glance, our ethical choices are like
seers and sinners singing together on the ghat of holy river.
Some things are intrinsically good—
like the raging storm’s gentle disposition or the turbulence of the sea.
Sunrise and sunset are stains of our suffering—
physician-assisted cloned experiences of false health and happiness.

What do you do when faced with
terminal starvation or glamorous senility?
I often turn and burn within the hygienic geometry of moral order,
a series of broken skylines linked by underground tunnels of lies.

I don’t know if you know science is a pure cruelty,
and plants, flowers, and trees spread the germs
of our imaginary fears of extinction.

A full moon- an anarchy of delight,
sinks into the silver basement of opulent decay.
She and I thrust each other’s linen flesh for predatory pleasure
as if beneficence and maleficence are close relatives.

Is evolution a wild, untamed creature?
I know nothing of survival of the fittest—
only the few odd alphabets from the Ice Age.
Am I guilty of teaching bioethics?