With all this glacial melting, and our own East Coast meltdown from our latest blizzard,  I wonder how many  Neolithic mummies might be found entrapped within ice sheets floating along our Jersey shore? And could these preserved remains just be displaced homeless, men and likely women as well, whose failed luck at Atlantic City Casinos  left them in strange circumstance of frozen time encapsulation, only to become part of a future archeological find? To whom and to what advanced scientific methods, or perhaps retrogressive scientific methodology, will these corpses be subjects of, if found a thousand years from now? Can we predict no mix up of modern and long former species of man?Just say for instance, some pristine specimen of iceman 3,000 years or older is floating in an iceberg, down from Western Greenland and past Nova Scotia in a tidal melt that finally brings it to a flooded non-moppable place ignored by a present day, though barbaric governor. Then said governor is ambushed by its distressed and recently homeless victims mobbing and mopping on icebergs and struck by mop heads, just as this Neolithic berg is floating by with its' ancient hunter/gatherer Popsicle in tow. Who might know the difference? What future generation might be able to clarify the difference between the two, or might they even care?

The heat around, lullabies the jubilant,
Sings the nocturnal to sleep.
Vapourizes the sweat of mine into you, yours into me.

Sweet was the taste that reminds me of your skin,
Sour was your core;
You clothed so spicy,
But bitter were your lips,
As you whispered you glimpsed Hope.

Would Hope bring forth this heat,
Suffocating, sweaty,
Devoid of air any-
yet addicts, depresses.

Is it Despair then?
The tumbling motion,
Ever retrogressive,
Past crumbling skyscrapers into atoms,
To a colloid of Anti-Brightness.

Is Despair not cold?
A chilling, shaking hand-
Skin withered, cut, wounded, ******;
Gangrene, pus, hair-draped;
Which claws up the ******* to the throat,
Feels the very pipe of wind, presses;
Pressure, pain, excruciating-
As chokes the distressed damsel while drinking the poison.

Well, supposedly, the heat might be the rage,
Which vaporized all,
And that left behind might be the despair, cold,
As I glimpse Death.

-Ruksana Saryak