Epic Adaptations of Evolution

The Drive
by David Bankson
Not poetry but query.
More conjecture than linguistic beauty.
Riding in a sedan, smartphone in hand,
I wonder over the nature of invention and innovation.
Skinny pines spin past the window.
Their needle evolution was as thoughtless as their location.
Most things could claim the same,
but humans are the species of anomalies,
fighting for control of destiny.
At a fast food drive-thru window now,
attacked by the visceral scent of cooked “meat” by-product.
Did meat evolve to be delicious,
or did we evolve to enjoy it?
Surely the latter, for being consumed has advantage
only to the seeds of flora.
What of pink slime, formica, waxy paper cups?
Did it evolve from our hands,
hands created through natural means,
or is invention exclusive of evolution? Does it matter?
My cup, it so happens,
has become empty as a banker’s soul.
I’m crossing the state line,
into not a different land but a different paradigm.
We think organically, rationally; they’re the same.
What then of the artist’s role?
Solution creation, or a baring of the proletarian soul?
Again the same,
for both sprout from illogical connections.
The artist stands in the middle of the public freeway,
daring anyone to trample their pedestrian ideal.
And the vehicles of dissent will come,
testing their mettle and hers.
What problems does this enduring artist solve?
The problem of showing the unshown,
explaining the inexplicable,
relating feelings unrelatable.
An epic adaptation of the human condition,
hinging on new patterns and connections.
Refilling the fuel tank before the journey’s end.
Even the artist must run dry of his fuel eventually.
How many millions of years do we require
before inspiration is replenished with such ease?
Insert pump,
lift handle (perhaps),
and inspiration is impregnated to the brain-tank.
Then again, ideas are cheap as convenience store booze,
found even in every podunk American town in spades.
I don’t have the answers;
indeed, this is not poetry but query.
David Bankson was raised in the piney forests of Texas and Louisiana, where he has studied and written poetry for 20 years. During years of moving and dealing with several divorces beneath his parents, poetry offered a much-needed outlet. He now resides in Texas with my lovely wife, son, and Siberian Husky.

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Scott Thomas Outlar hosts the site 17Numa.wordpress.com where links to his published poetry, fiction, essays, interviews, reviews, and books can be found. He is a Best of the Net and three-time Pushcart Prize nominee. Scott's poetry books include: Songs of a Dissident (Transcendent Zero Press, 2015), Chaos Songs (Weasel Press, 2016), Happy Hour Hallelujah (CTU Publishing, 2016), and Poison in Paradise (Alien Buddha Press, 2017). Scott serves as an editor for The Peregrine Muse, Happy Hour Hallelujah, and Novelmasters.

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