I am no fan
of the
Superiority of Man.
Take him away!
Let me sit at my desk,
spinning silken sounds,
weaving words.

But,
know this:

Mans entitlement to patrimony
is as old as testosterone.
Arising back,
past
Mohammed in the Nefu,
Jesus on Golgotha,
Moses at Sanai.

Back to that First Hunter,
sharp-stone tipped-spear armed,
venturing from his
fire-warmed cave
on his daily quest for meat.

And if we investigate
this is-ness,
this paleontology of our patriocracy
we may discover,
as we dig to exhume
the significance of
the first great man,
that the comfortable security
of our intrenched,
nearly genetic,
tiered existence –

man atop-
woman below,-

does not include
either
rectitude
or
legitimacy.

Ability
will never infuse
morality
into
enterprise.

But beware:

Rechiseling this schematic,
engraved on the walls of our world,
is the Atlantic,
crashing wave on wave against
the massifs of New England’s coast.
The ocean will very well win,
but only after exhausting millennia.

And even then,
will that resulting geology
hold the sea at bay?

And what would be the butchers bill?

And who would pay?