In the beforetime, under a different administration,

There were marsupial words, chameleon words in trees,

Words shedding their wings and tunneling in the sea —

Clever and strong, out-thronging all our mute associations.

Among them went the poor hunters of words, into a stark

And dreary contest. Most dissolved when spat on.

Or imagine being hopeful, small and sat on

By a behemoth epic myth lured from the dark.

Yet efforts did persist, since words were useful things,

As proven by certain midden-heaps of note

That show the bones of comedy cooked with votes,

And also oration hides made into slings.

Once in a while a tender soul took home

A gold-hoofed lyric antelope to feed — Winsome, admired,

but it would not breed.

Now all these creatures’ habitat is gone.

But wonder on wonder: Maybe cynically,

They left what could be hounded in the dust

By the henchmen of their perished captors — us.

From the ruins of that strange menagerie,

We sift the endless pails-full for a hoary

Vertebra or a molar, the single part

Left in the flattened cage of the world’s heart —

Evidence of a story of a story.