A certain gene grows legs

And it walks then runs foolhardy
into him, the one that changes
with the sky like mold on the perch
of growing crust, that eyelid down
the very ring about the round.
Drooping now on a thrift of alcohol.
The worst one does until a man finds
a group of apes and eats the final one,
the rind, that good weeping speck
of drink in the water pool. What
bacterium drew its sentience from
the people eating it, draws now
its spaces round in this the cooled
fall who stands upright and drawls
moody like a venom taken everyday
until one decides the floor is a bed.
A bed made good until this ghost
dies again as sober as daylight morn?
What ghost is that from the hindbrain
slumping near baboon upright?


~ by Jeremy on November 11, 2010.

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