Melchizedek

Nostalgia for a previous day,
When shamans stepped from smoky huts
To survey the sun chasing Venus
Into the lightening welkin,
Leaving a tangled pile of skin and hair,
Twisted like a ball of serpents,
Lying upon the brown coat of an ox,
As sperm heads whipped themselves madly inside brown-haired priestesses,
Toward fertilization,
Pulled by a force incomprehensible,
To rise up and become human,
Stand on two feet
And build machines that fly past the red ice mountains of Pluto
And send back pictures,
Is merely the pain of memory,
The curse that enables us
To consider what was,
To observe how things are,
And to suffer the courage,
As a child sitting in the passenger seat of a car,
To put out a hand
And touch the wheel of his father's car,
As they drive onward,
Further from Eden.