Flirting With Darwin From the thread of a champion chimp’s womb you sprang. Your scouring epistemology was not of Genesis, but of class and species. When a tired woman laid down with you, her legs spread wide, no thoughts of eternal damnation lurked to seize you impotent. Oh, but what of great miracle men? To you they had a place of need. The fittest were made to fuck the fittest, and the rest should simply die. To the symbol which denotes Jesus Christ they’ve added feet. They call it “fact” now. They call it you, sir. It scuttles by on the tail ends of pickup trucks. Is it painful for you, when it’s smashed in a rear-ender? I shrug. How does one contemplate the dead when souls don't exist?