Poezja

A man, 
in the shadow of a child, 
walks, for the sake of 
phylogenesis. 
 
The Great Bustard, 
was on the brink of 
extinction. Somebody 
was not an achiever. 
 
Seeking, 
an inborn god in thighs, 
for running faster than light, 
weightless, faceless. 
 
Dust will take, 
dust for the dark matter 
sequencing a disaster. 
The animal within roars.