Primate
A single word is branded into the fresh snow in urine.
'Memoriam'
Over the crest of a barren hill covered in winter's dowry,
there is a brown form huddled over a burning tire,
shivering alone.
Curse this thing and the roundabout landscape he formed not in oils or watercolors,
but in reality
curse him.
He sketches himself so clever amongst all creatures
so chivalric
so noble and wise.
but there is no electric shaver here
no Ipod or toilet paper.
one would imagine he has not long to live.
Wait.
Wait just a minute now,
he has fashioned a sling, to hunt I presume.
Now a spear, how quaint.
And now he has a rifle.
And where does this glorious quest for fire lead?
It hardly matters.
Here he breathes and kills and breeds, here but for the gods themselves to see...
A broken man,
last child bred of a split isotope.
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