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?

< Last The Blue Earth Next >

Sound File Hear the author read this poem. Sound File
[*** K /.WMA file]
Copyright (c) 1999, 2009 by T Newfields.