by LJ Frank

there is no uniform view of the state of the dead

no pigmentation on the scattered craniums

housing the thoughts of spiritual realms

buried under centuries of nameless generations

waiting to be remembered through a tool 

perhaps made of wood, stone, metal, hair or bone

no inkling of the nomad’s individual brain

except where an inscribed column, artifact or cave painting is found

or a gravesite with ritualistic effects to communicate a belief

and other sites exist, but too many exhibitions of hangings 

with markings to suggest that ancient Christs

were more plentiful than wanting to imagine

and cuneiform tablets with inscriptions of numbers 

devised for the exchange of the material 

with drips of bloodstains on some

still, I ponder as a lover of dance and voice

when the first steps and songs were created

in the ancient tangos, rumbas, and salsas of innuendo

body gyrating, wagging phallus, and bobbing mammilla

the ancient bones come to life

then dissipate into fossils and dust

a flame burns like a campfire on the horizon

against the dark hues of night

the spirit of their existence remains

an invisible ascent occurs in the Mind’s Eye

mammals competed and capital glorified beyond survival

and with the emerging centuries the anthropophaginian is in reality 

the cannibal adorned with tactical projectiles of pride

and still, artificial coins and paper find a way to assuage the sheep

that even the sparrows are fed as their God reminds them

but in the deep past one can hear from the decaying bones –

be careful in the power, control and wealth you wish

for the universe is a cosmological expanding brain

with bursts of growing, uncontrollable energy

unimaginable pain and awesome splendor

and humans are passers-by with a paradoxical distant and ringside view 

yet in the middle of it all one might ask 

what were the thoughts in that primitive’s mind whose bones were found 

intact but alone on a mountain, with no others nearby, –

is the grace of our evolution that which is bestowed on us

through our humane touch, sharing and imagination?