Saturday, August 8

Dark Continents.

Peering over the edge of the earth
In dreams internal continents rearrange
Geological time makes the rocket thoughts seem
Like a replay of birth, crawling on a glass floor
I know what those experiments were meant to discover
But I don't know what they did them for
It seems the kind of thing that Ethics would abhor

Of course we clamp monkey's heads in vices
And saw off their skulls
We eat bush meat and the sweet meats of men
Despite the turmoil in our souls, when pushed or pulled
And roles reverse perversely when we are hunted
And the meekest may grow fierce beyond belief
To find relief from the stranger that is fear, and still more.


Hans said...

maybe you could blow those images away and replace them with something beautiful and fun.

Metamatician said...

I wish I could, Hans.

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