I am on the edge of the mountain chain of long gone ancestors,
Born of love or necessity,
Now, compressed as stone and cold as ashes,
Forgotten or not,
Unmoving and already eternal.
Beside me sits a jaguar,
With sharp, wet teeth,
And, wild flower eyes.
Are his prayers the same as mine,
The same as the storms and the stones and the stars,
The same as the serpent and the flames and the flowers?
The long, rolling thunder interrupts my thoughts,
Of the grinding teeth of the clock towers and the metal rats,
Of patterns from the back of a snake decorating the feathers of a bird,
Of Saturn devouring his children,
Reminding me that everything has its own rules.
The sky is still full of Paleolithic memories,
And, the shadows of clouds whispered to the first pagan gods.
Man has made over the earth.
Rain is no longer forecast by gray skies.
It is instead announced by swarms of clouds,
Built of technological advancements.
The desert continues to grow,
The virus spreads,
And, flowers continue to bloom whenever they choose.
The world is ever the same,
Never the same.
Equally true. What can you do?
Enriching the earth.
Consuming the earth.
I am an Oroborus with an open mouth,
Singing in the graveyard,
And, feasting at Jubilee.