there are those who become old when young
they are our species’ future
the ones outside
who feel unrelated
they are a split waiting
unhappy in dancing crowds
anthropologists among happily blind apes
inconsequential interrogators
attempting to understand
the human race they are
allegedly and criminally connected unto
until time allows a new arisal
to separate wheat from chaff
if that is too cruel
let’s say simply
for the old to get old
and from them
new to blossom
like the winged Phoenix
from the ashes
of short-armed, bipedal
what is next for us
is the end of most of us
and may I add
as a brief but final aside
good fuckin’ riddance


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