Oregon Zoo, 11 September 2001

A chimpanzee grabs the bars, swinging around the cage like a Disneyfied machine.
A Gray Wolf gazes up at people who are staring down licking ice cream, munching

popcorn, drinking cola, the crowd moves to the next exhibit, their children ecstatic from what they sense lost in themselves.

Pungent smells mingle with terror that today descended from the sky. But these birds can hardly fly, captured in a humid room,"it's hard to be up when you're down."

At the Arctic Circle, a bear gnaws on a knotty piece of wood. In Africa, a hippo lies next to his mate, rolls of muscle and fat asleep; one eye awake.

       "What's this?"
       "It's a Hornbill, a Brown Hornbill."
       "Those are Storks."

What do animals call each other? What's Deer got to say?

On display in a replication of your provenance is the ultimate degradation.
What have we done to deserve this fate except not to be born human?
 We know where we are; but will our offspring, born into a simulation
know too? Is reality a genetic map of one's indigenous range?
The glimmer behind the gaze.


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