A baby boy shuts his eyes and sees
bull continents drift,
collide, startle, spin around.

Prehistoric bucks suddenly accusing-
(Did YOU just back into ME?)
They jam head-to-head,
gouge, reconcile, then confer.

The boy likes what he sees.

The beasts get down to business.
They iron out earth's future
with special bellows, & lots of musk.

Above this caucus
of nodding, naying heads,
clacking antlers mesh
into a burgeoning thicket.

He calls for more!

The thicket shudders,
sprouts into a dagger forest.

It shoots up recklessly,
like a baby's legs,
and jabs the sky
with young ideas:

New species, struggles, lies.
Whole societies in the air,
too busy to teach their children
about the bellowing below.

           The weight of so much life is too much.

There is a final SNAP
of prehistoric backs.

Not a grain remains on which to carve
the memory of all the things
that passed before this boy's eyes.

Gone with the casket to behold
What I deem tired and old
As an elder betrays my hopes
And listens to every trope
Of an ending where I bring no thought to the table
Fabled in the mind of the third that had heard a word
Beyond the scourge of the purge occurring
In the hand procuring
The glee
The joy
The life founded with heart and handled like a toy
In the gleam's fourteen it glimmer
With the shimmer of ash, to ween
And be clear in time
To fear without wine
A running case of Brandy, drunk with a hand so sandy
Of our edges to sea what be
Collective hearts of Pangaea, dubbed colossal
Sink in the sea of Panthalassa
Drown inside a coffin of wine
And make it mine
Mine
Behold a drowning dream
Further from sea than it may seem