It breaches time, swallow of sun-lit bramble
Engorging the airs of existence
We tumble beneath, eating wastrel words
Over hot stones in our midst.
All that we hold in evolutionary bliss:
A mammoth cache of exoskeletons
Begs us to find the appropriate descent
Of once human pedigree.
Even Darwin’s ghost metamorphosed
Recently – near our swap meet – into
The shape of things to come:
A hybrid man-beast of great girth,
With wings greater than any angel’s,
Floating around declaring good science
About interactions with new hybrid species
At the London Para-Life Society,
Until – sadly enough – they called in
A ghost hunters’ team to debunk him.
Poem with Rain & Wind
The rains came & thieves took
My computer, my inner eye
On the worldly lifeline beyond.
The night came, then I got off work
As a browbeaten security guard.
A nocturnal effluvium suffusing all,
Even my alley cat recoiled
From the turmoil I cursed.
History is a long wind streaming
Through our digital consciousness,
Winding around dust motes
& life’s desultory debris.
History is the porn star deformed
By excess plastic surgery,
Botox & Jacko’s pill doctor.
Still the rains of nocturnality come
As another drink is consumed
Within the hookah smoke
Descending in the air’s turbulence
To land like History on my brow
Finally, leaving only an imprint
Of the real facts the wind
Covers up in the sandbox of time:
Or in that cliché of time
Hack writers are deluged by
Clutching bottles leaking
Mythic nursery rhymes.