Why should we
tolerate
a diet of
weak poisons, a home in insipid
surroundings, a circle
of acquaintances
who are not
quite
our enemies, the noise
of motors with
just enough
relief to prevent
insanity?
Who would want to live in a world which is just not
quite
fatal?
Taken from Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring (Houghton Mifflin, 1962), p 12. Submitted by Wesley Brown.
Verbatim Poetry 