The sun sits heavy on our lake.
There's much less to anticipate;
So much to communicate.
So let's reflect on our spectrum,
Our sapient human curriculum.

I

The sentient clod in Book One,
Sat up, cleaned up, pulled out his thumb.
With leafless Eve and fruitful tree
(made fertile with Theology)
Gave rise to Sociology.
Of all the ologies to appear,
Without this one we're not here.

Buy in, ward of tribal wrath.
Empathy's good for a sociopath.

II

To help our clans grow brave and strong,
Our gestures turned into whale song.
Those gutturals uttered shared found fire,
Pulled our heads from **** mire.
Did more for us than temple choirs.
Soon we make our first speech acts,
Labelling things, voicing contracts.
Our language was invented once
With radiance, with brilliance.
Its acquisition global,
Like math and music, universal.
Not to be learned, but inherent,
Foreboding dark and translucent.
With many voices we now relate,
And in conclusion end debate.
It really does sound quite absurd
To be seen and not heard.
So form good thoughts, speak good words.

Though our languages grew and spread,
By 2100 half are dead.

III

From our mud jambs and our stone,
We peaked, then said we're not alone.
Assumed a greater good than we
Placed us here and made us free.
Co-joined with divines we wait,
To resurrect... reincarnate...
(It's just too weird to transmigrate)
The ones who really take the cake
Are those that transubstantiate.
Beliefs now sculpted religious states
(The unknown makes one hesitate).
Thank goodness in our good will,
If caught we punish
(And still sadly ****).
Fear and guilt are base and column
Supporting deities we relied on.

We surely had ourselves in mind,
To create such gods we find unkind.

IV

We sought solutions to reality.
We love to hear our name.
To think within about oneself,
To think one can prove oneself
With statements of truth and belief.
We plied knowledge, values and existence,
To come to terms with our essence.
If you think, doubt and speak,
Know when to enter and delete;
Then rest assured you're not doomed;

dubito ergo cognito, ergo sum

V

The hub of sciences and controls
Mines our minds to open portals.
A discipline that aims to heal
Delusions of reality.
It delves deeply into our dreams,
Interpreting recurring themes.
Parsing perceptions and relations,
Our cognition and emotions.
Claiming reactions of fight or flight
Is our basest primate notion.
If you're seeking therapy
For life's complex journey,
Then heal thyself, and heal me.

Couch us in Psychology.

VI

In King James we're told history
Bound in ancient mystery.
The collected works of humanity
Were printed for our legacy.
One needs only read The Prodigal Son,
To know the course our literature's run.
Here read romance, greed and crime,
Erotica, adventure, The Divine.
Its cup spills with poetry,
Breaching the lip with poesy.
The best an author could produce.

The exception being Mother Goose.

VII

Our human/physical Geography
Unlocks our global complexity;
Unravels human comaraderie.

To really get it leave your hovel,
Pack your bags, make plans to travel.

VIII

Laws are made for governance,
With no excuse for ignorance.
Economy, society and politics,
Are codified by social ethics.
Crowding cells with amoral convicts.
Rules curb narcissistic needs
With civil and criminal equality.

To understand our civic censure,
Spot a cop in your rear view mirror.

IX

We've searched long, trying to explain,
Using Science, naming names.
Administering tests of redundancy
To master predictability.
Everything now seems Something-Science:
As if the hyphen empowers sapience.
But science isn't all that stable,
Its theories ever changing.
Strings now loop through everything.
The latest theories can't be grasped,
With ten dimensions moving fast,
Or moving slowly, shrinking, growing.

It seems we're really in the know!
Before Big Bang what ran the show?

X

From cave paintings to modernity,
Art projects humanity.
It's very good at teasing us
With abstracts feigning mimesis.
Does the artist need an audience
For his art to make some sense.
For art's sake accept the creed:

Ars Gratia Artis.
Are we agreed?

Afterward

What I learned from
Rock 'n Roll
Has helped divine
What I call soul

(As for *** and drugs?
Best left untold).

I'm just the boy that ran track,
Studied Shakespeare,
Read the stacks.
Did stand-up routines
In my class.

Those I love I endow
With all my love.
They know by now.

Don't get me wrong,
I'm aging great,
But there's so much to communicate.
So much to anticipate.

The wind directs the snow
Horizontally down Spartan Ave.,
But for a moment,
A snow-funnel pirouettes
Like a music-box dancer.
I hum some Tchaikovsky
As it exits.
Act II follows,
I sweep the stage
For the soldiers marching across frozen fields.
The music stops.
I shut the door.
Enough Tchaikovsky for this winter.

When all alone,
Be oxymoronic;
Focus on all,
Not alone.