I pulled out an old, unfinished manuscript last week, thinking I might create a fresh draft. Sadly, it’s one of those beer stories, the ones that sit unfinished for too long, and go flat. I might find a use for the elements of this one, a character to return to, a story line to resurrect, but it’s too late to drink it straight out of the bottle.
I suppose I could pour it into chili. Prolong the metaphor. Meanwhile, here’s a poem about god and evolution.
This is the irony: that we (humans)
are (far) more degraded under
the tenure of the Watchmaker
than we could ever be
by the revelation that we hold
the contents of our double helix
in common with the apes.
6000 years of (human) life under the sky
god and we are so gravely fallen while
three million years of evolution
finds us out among the stars
from which we came.