On the Edge of the World

In this moment, as machines
In all the banks of the world
Spin calculations, as mines

Mine whatever can be mined,
As rockets rocket, jets jet,
And satellites keep winking

In geostationary
Rings, a handful of mule deer
Races across the mesa

Through a treeless flat of snow,
As though they’re being hunted
And they know it, though they’re not,

Not here, except by winter,
And the calculating banks,
And the miners and rockets

And jets and satellites. You
Can see them blinking up there,
All those hunting, hungry eyes.