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only thin presumption links to possible grace

we cannot conspire in what we do not know

will my looking glass loves live in wonderland

all of them stoned as eloy

with severe post-republicans blowing the whistle

is the feedlot where our sentience ends

will we mill in mad circles

bled by heathens

and routinely milked

any best guess is sublimation

how many cultures have come and gone

spotty records pock the planetary petri dish

it is an episode if southern apes form marching bands

follow the ice melt back to the poles

even over the land bridge to confound a continent

just string out all the genes to an abacus

then count the cadence in unexpressed traits

the archival death march of ontology

when the cymbals clash

as glaciers met again at the equator

when the daily grind turns out to be eons

then subduction of proud monuments

in the icy tectonics of glacial creep

will earth's killdeer heart still drag one wing

Copyright 06/01 Robert N. Erman
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