Posted in poetry

Doing the Darwin

Meaning isn't immanent.
It's a conjured thing
Spun by us, the
Meaning machines.
(Or should I say our genes?)
A tease to keep us
Doing the Darwin
On a dance floor
Lit by a random sun.

Author:

I’ve retired after a career teaching law. I divide my time now between Athens, Georgia, in the States and the south coast of Ireland.