Thursday, June 7, 2018


By Rich Menz

Does humanity return after the store bought, stickerd apple falls from the pine?
It’s a trap.
The cold explanation is too simple for them to believe.
Wind blown is all.
Just like the hours of undeniable footage from the mysterious Pacific Northwest.
Just like the indentations in mud and sand.
All which have been chipped and frayed from years of speculation.
All wind blown.
Our tracks are similar, barely heading somewhere.
Towards each other, perhaps.
The meeting of man and beast has always proven to be more
than a passing wave to a shaky camera or a primal grunt
from distant brush.
Man has carved his way into the universe by staring down his reflection
in the iris of the serpent.
A spear wielding coming of age.
In the misty northern woods hangs a web
where mankind meets it’s true fate.
A fly, defiant and adolescent, scales the silk entanglement to reach the spider.

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