Vestigial Organs

In the wombtime of our species
 we slept in marshgrass or on

beds of shale, depending on the season.
 Springtime: squelched and sank into lucid dreams

that our bodies preserved long into day.
 Like frayed twine or fungus, they fanned out

and sexed with ordinary thoughts.
 Nightly fossilized inside the mud’s memory foam

shadows of lizard sister-in-law, pig cousin
 ape mother loomed palpable. Did you know

when hyenas laugh, they aren’t laughing,
 that’s just the sound they make? Like

a party of young men shining on amphetamines.
 Get out while you can. In winter we miss

the smell of brine We wake up with very straight
 spines. Calves overlapping, invisible twine

between us. Opportunity for “misanthrope”
 is a recent development. We used to call

that “hermit”, and in the more before
 we used to call it dead. We remember

a kindness from the cold, the company
 of bats. Spectacle of upside-down twirls

in cave kitchen. We used to know something
 about echolocation. Stalactites and lustrous

metallic solids. The skeleton key to the swamp
 is: not questioning the sublime, such as iodine rocks

evaporating, some might say rising like the soul 
 from the body, in summer months to violet gas.

Reactions/critique welcome