Poetry

Our research points to terrifying conclusions,
Cryptids don’t exist but we believe in them.
We spawn marine reptiles in our minds.
We descend like Andean wolves, into the lower forests.
It might as well be that skunk-ape migrants of global warming
Indicate their degrees in theology.
It might as well be that being is bizarre,
Monsters of the lector unsolved in the sermon.   
It might as well be that Chupacabras  
Are devil dogs stirring the furnace of souls.
Perhaps a pharmaceutical apocalypse
Creates the condition for a mutant menagerie.
All we can say beyond a reasonable doubt:
They are the varmint of the malcontent
Who have peopled else, and are on the move.