The brontosaurus honks it’s immutable horn
Across a bright Mesozoic plain,
It thunders and stomps,
It shakes the earth
And the many flying and jumping organisms
Bounce up
Amidst smoke and clods of clay,
As lowly reptiles scatter and stop, look, and scatter again,
Barking out their primitive pathological dictums,
Scurrying onward, outward,
Establishing, rising, enumerating
In their own spectacularly transitional domain,

“What’s all the fuss about?”
We might ask,
“Can’t you just relax and enjoy the day?”

“No,” reply the beasts,
We’re alive, Goddamnit!”
We want everyone to know we’re alive,
We’re bitching and moaning and fighting,
Just to survive, just to have a name,

So I now sound my own immutable conch
With all these winsome, lonesome words,
Echoing across canyons and cascades;
Across galvanized rivulets
Of gravity’s sagacious wrinkle,
Staking my own claim,
In proclamation of my own
Miraculously insignificant refrains.

2 thoughts on “Mesozoic

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