"Of How Instinct Cradles Few"
Computer voice! Rush out the motorcade!
The device needs polishing, the chairman starves for venison
And the workers' jowls have been siphoned of blood
Indicate vampires, or employ vampires
To assert their verticality over the flag bearers
of far-far so-and-so nations upon nations
Rise up, waxing the nut!
Spook the cottontail from his thick-tangle thicket-home,
And watch him run! Stomp the warm egg he hadn't the heart to defend!
No hero, no home, no heart, no hero
Survival defaults on the soldier, this day, and forcefully
Tugs on his genitals
Thinning and thinning, the crown can . . .
Docked in muck, the crow can still . . .
Yearlings birthed beside new yearlings
To feed from the ash tray - God's way of cleaning the pit with his tongue
And that tongue will clean itself with newer tongues, ad infinitum
The plan must sell! Divinity mustn't neglect its responsibility to groom our flanks!
Wag, wag! For the idea of sanitation has always overwhelmed the intellectual
And, divorced from our deity, history would scrawl itself in scat
Yet the animal carries on with an innate sense of duty
And calls its kittens to its gland with a low gurgle and hoot
No reader, the brochure fails to interpret such a simple routine
It is a poem of scientific genre - stupid, voyeuristic fodder
That details a fool's strategy of understanding
How instinct cradles few