Exalt, if you will, the evolution of the pre-frontal cortex. Exalt,
if you must, the grip of the opposable thumb. Blame
every innovation and evil on these digits. But what changed
when we left the jungle, when we skipped from the forest
for fields, was a scent on the air of something delicious,
a scent we stood erect to canter towards. Blame God,
but it was the serpent slipping us a gift to discern poison,
which gave the apple flavor, which gave life to sweat,
the wet tongues of Adam and Eve, tossed from paradise
for knowing, lashing out in blame for each other till they met
for the first time in embrace and tasted, with lips, another glory.
So, we have wasted eons learning to cook a delectable dish,
to explore our bodies, to speak of this. Exalt, if you will, buildings
boned as namesakes to phallic leaders, but the long twisting wires
bind us now, to nothing more than language and lust, spread out
from our throats to the other, to the One, to our once and true
love. Evolution, ever forward, until we learn to ask back in, to tell God
what we’ve learned from skin, what we’ve done, with our tongues.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s