pull the trigger
breach the dam
bury the evidence
we have the means, the stories, the blind need
to misconstrue through archeology
anything at all, create an arc of time and culture
or an ark divine, in whose boots to tremble
heebie-jeebie monkeys that we are.

drop the rock
breach the dame
blaze on past her rotund flanks
she can take it, and your dust will feed
those crouching mammals shaking fists
at your blind heavenly eye.

read a book
consider the clam
so much more huntable than a mammoth
we are as likely riverine as savannal things
a land lion faster than a sealion, easier to hide
we slip and blunder through the cracks 
of lowtide wondering what the high line means

write a book
assert the claim
the earth is so many years old today, and we
all began the same way. 

throw stones
at those vacuous gasbags who contradict
your clearly clever reading of the entrails
your doctoral fingers mucking about in time

it turns, it turns, this world a whale, be still, it turns.


This year, I'm challenging myself to use every daily prompt as a title, in whole or in part, and see what unfurls. We are halfway through the Stroll of Poets' 30/30 for 2021.