all that

every generation since Oldowan man chipped obsidian and flint
to make a stone ax to lay open the skull of an adversary
for food or turf, honing technique until

            at this end
            he’s chipped them
            into ICBMs

the inner stuff of blind surge
the inclination of instinct
down a slippery slope

………the popped buds
………of hope

whatever’s survived
the gauntlet of a willful Demiurge
in which rank and ecstatic
blossoms collide

what morphs into the next thing
which unfolds from a chrysalis
and mounts the sky
            a lime Luna moth the color of bliss
            a bird that whistles, a bird that sings
            desire that will not desist
            the leading edge of everything
            the fruit it brings

my daughters now in the outer world
pushing on, pioneers

……..a bird that whistles
……..a bird that suffers

……..a bird that sings

by Jim Culleny

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