Arts

the denisovan in me

Tonight
as I huddle
around this homo-
sapien fire
of fresh-laupered
beech limbs to
ponder the
170,000 year-old
neanderthal
cave architects
of Aveyron,

the Tacoma
in idle above
on the ridge
my vain
attempt
to recharge
a dead cell,
AM Sinatra
from Corbin
belting over
this holler of
deer, whippoorwill,
wood frog and
barred owl,

the denisovan
in me
thinks
maybe we got
things
all wrong.

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