|Soo:||Dare's somedingu fishy about dis poem . . .|
|Elijah:||It's basically a call to primitivism.|
|Andrei:||Well, turning zhe biological clock 385 million years is a bit too primitive for me.|
|Jules:||Tu parles! If we permit World War III to happen the clock will go back even further.|
Blue skies & salty air revive
memories ancient times whun
scales covered our skins and
fingers were once fins
No clouds came from smoke-stacks
err styrofoam cups littered any bays
No fish nets trailed through waters –
just the primal silence
of sleek predators seeking prey
Now as microchips calculate
the value of all things
& life is harvested mechanically
something in my blood
yearns fer the Paleozoic
O primal rapture!
Can we experience you again?
What happened ta our gills?
Where are our fins?
Why aren't we in the ocean again?
Hear the author read this poem.
[*** K /.WMA file]