Our Blombos Cave
A form of poetic-Abstractionism in human evolution
There’s a hollow bone echo
carving its way
into the fabric of my being
a baseline isomorphism
Boom ba boom ba dada da…
Swaying mystery without an edge
and yet there it was all along
in our paintings and songs
blazing stars of the primary fire,
drawn in the blood of the first hunt
Within my bellowing soul,
I am but a beast
with hindsight and epiphanies
yet the galaxies don’t seem to stay put
and the seashore is filled
with skulls brought in by the tide
Do I run or do I hide?
In the chambers of the neocortex
for fortitude reaching forth
the fall entangled always with pride
and yet, how do I decide?
To rise from my tattered casket
and cry out my whiskey prophecies
finally, unleashed to the realms of man?
Yet was this always the plan?
Was I as delicate as that octopus
that watched us fall apart
collecting that final
gold timepiece in its den.
And I wonder,
is there even a moment left to pass,
when disorder is maximized at last.
Have we grown tired of the flame?
The remnants of a mortician’s
weathered hands, as the reaper naps nearby
have we forgotten the face on the moon?
It was always a grin,
a revolting wild howl,
as tragedy played itself out,
on a stage that never stopped
and a playwright that went mad.
Yet how do we decide to live,
among the dead, to love
each other among the vile,
to find wholeness among the fractured
and peace…
