in the muck
re-group, protoplasmic and joyful
singing in the proverbial soup
and random cosmic chances
a song of differentiation
loose ends / ragged strands / loose lines
of poetry: DNA spiral dances
the wriggling one-celled poet decides
to become complex
takes its time:
geologic / astral eons
twitching and failing
into the fabled tadpole of adaptation
to a godless universe, diverse
in its variegated futility
our fish, now fowl,
proclaims its Archaeopteryx manifesto
standing on Precambrian banks
demanding a return on its investment
in sedimentary overlays:
Ernst Haeckel ! shrieks the avian jokester
into the long long corridors
of time’s bad poetry
sleeping off the tadpole nightmare
sprouting flippers, legs, digits, wings
deciding to fly, smashing antediluvian cedars with trilobite tail
upright biped sporting body-hair you shall prevail
descending from trees in African dreams
gracile / robust (that’s us)
Hey turn that shit up ! yells Piltdown Man
from his evolutionary window
falling for the lies
of the Lord of the Flies
Zinjanthropus asks quizzically
How much more of this
are you prepared to take ?
misbegotten centuries glimmer:
light years of bad poetry
captive eons of incoherent free verse
as we wait
for the Bronze Age Myths
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The annual Darwin Gay Ball
Was a gala occasion for all.
Looked quite ridiculous
Leaning, half-drunk, on the wall.
Zinjanthropus, high on bananas
Uttered forth a long chain of Hosannas.
Although missing a link,
He knew just what to think
And went cruising for greener savannas.
The Cro-Magnons (more agile than Lucy)
Like their hunting and gathering juicy . . .
The mating was prime
And their dance, so sublime,
Could out-monkey the funky Watusi.
‘Twas a lowbrow event; all the same,
Proto-drag-queens competed for fame.
The divine Homo Habilis,
Hairy, but fabulous,
Gave Knuckle-Dragging its name.
Homo Sapiens‘ wisdom has wrecked us
As the Darwinist doctrines infect us.
Knuckle-draggers may dream,
But bonobos now scream
That the winner is: Homo Erectus!