by Daniel Fitzgerald
Quiet! Ironic isnâ€™t it? The word that breaks the silence, when we need it most.
I knew a man once, and then he died. That was all he had to say.
Cool move kid! Now youâ€™ve done it!
Cryptic triptychs on the seashore. She sells them on the seashore. Of that Iâ€™m sure.
Is this a park or a garden? – Get on the outside with everyone else. – Thank you, but itâ€™s a rather good place to be. – Leave!
0 thoughts on “Genesis”
The Cavedwellers (a reply poem)
Huddled in the allegory, residents give children portable caves to take with them outside when they gather driftwood tinder. They are clever in a practical sense to know which holes in the head let in light and that making them bigger lets in more dark.
Crafty shut-ins keep to themselves the necessities and only let out what is unwanted. Easy for them since they have blinded search parties foraging for plenty of unnecessary to dispense. So what if they never return? Blindness is easy to make. Anyways, light stays a boogie-man with them gone.
It’s breeding season when kindlings dwindle. Abundant shadow puts troglodytes in a rutting desire. Better than freedom for all, it’s a free for all. Friction replaces fire. Conflict becomes intercourse. Recreation fritters into a dim luxury.
Somewhere down where the sun don’t shine, a mewling cavedweller cries for sticks to gouge out the cold and a caring mother delegates which sibling will see to it.