In chemical muck
the first single celled organism
divides.

They grow in the ocean
multiplying.

They eat each other and change
in morphogenic fields of possibility.

Evolving...
in no time at all
into magnetic body fields.

The body is a drug...
as powerful as anything
I can stick into it.

Dip stick.
Freudian slip.
Tight lipped.
Hard prick the syringe
into her
void
where a snake slithers 
in the bush.

Near the entrance
a heretic spreads confusion
like a disease
administering a 
sludge transfusion.
Sleaze.

The moment tastes
like a cold, dusty coffee
and there's waiting
at a watchtower
for some post-modern fall-out;
the cleansing, the blessing
to blow it all away.

You know it's a sucker's bet
to place the date of
the end of the world.

Besides apocalypse is now, I say
anyway. 
Who noticed?

The post-modern demolition is 
an event horizon only to be chased forever.

Could we mask all our pain
with a post-modern make-over?

We'll see...

When post-modern catches up
with the primitive...
When what matters 
meets anti-matter.

While on my way near an underpass 
on the highway there's a sacred cow.
I pass a billboard.
It says, 'Killing Time'

    ...and I can smell
the scent of leather
amidst the post-modern
slaughter.                                                    © 1998 by David Bozzi