Prometheus put fire at our feet.
He taught us to control its smoke and blaze.
We learned to warm the night, and cook the meat,
and fire pots, and so evolved a ways.
Then someone sometime stumbled on the wheel –
geometry that helped us stumble less.
Like fire it took off with huge appeal
and blazed us ways we couldn’t then express.
Inventions and discoveries were they
that formed the base for all our growth since then,
but I suggest those tools have had their day
and we don’t need to try their ways again.
To take us further than we’ve come before,
it’s time to matter less, and venture more.
There’s alteration everywhere and nothing steady yet.
The shape of life revises every day.
The mode is metamorphosis and never could be set
to animate in any other way.
The planet moves; the beings eat and grow and breed and die.
Mutation is a motto for our kind.
It isn’t any wonder then, that you and we and I
mistake ourselves for whom we left behind.
Acceleration, in the rodent race,
is treasured by electrons and by fuels
in oxidation, valued more by pace
than bullets, coveted as precious jewels.
The race is competition for an end
that no one known to any has acquired.
I watch somnambulating people spend
their decades in a rush to be retired.
And we adapt more readily than mice.
Minute adjustments modify the mix
so we can phone or text while driving. Twice
the work is done without attempt to fix
the base invasion: ivy-veined commute –
a labyrinth with cul-de-sacs at root.