Wrong

The mechanism is too big to manage,
to small to see, uncover
the wound it makes, wet
pulled together samples of
raw meat organized to crave,
to suckle and eliminate,
in other words, to coagulate.
However small, however light
such omnivores, the brilliant
conductors of search and rescue
chant their silent sermon
one crunch after another.
Take one or two, the pile
will continue and recover,
the legend will have
a share and though it is
dress rehearsal,
the remedial dose
given to the father
will hone in on the son
and make little difference.
Too late is afterall, too late.
Although sympathy is in order
repugnance shows up sooner
and with that confusing aroma,
the devil's name is despondence.
One nanosecond of hell is worse
than hell to the cautious
who remain wary and patient,
better yet than never.

what if?
rather than when.