My eyebrows keep trying to grow together.
If I'm not careful, a furry red caterpillar will
soon take residence at the edge of my Cro-
Magnon cliff, an insubordinate, yet well
hidden malfunction within the 'works.'

The works have been gummed by the toothless
descendants of History's greatest bragging right,
coating the cogs of my future with the caustic
resin of coughed up lung particles, slowly
sabotaging my only means of existence.

I shave the peak of my nose, when the
time comes, repeatedly destroying the brow's
persistent bridge builders, real hard-asses cut from
the cloak of ancient masonry, replenishing the
pale desert faster than mother Earth with an

extra shot of estrogen.

My mother believes that God created evolution.
Either way, the technology is replacing us all.

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