impending storms batter against our concious want
to be better, less tied to emotion and our genes,
less tied to the world from which we have evolved,
better than the suffering insects and rodents,
better than the birds which fall under our own hand,
than the lives we have left behind wanting
more than we can give fleeing before storms
stretched out in a line behind us becoming faint
and thin in the face of full color catastrophe
before us as we choose and choose and choose
chugging along toward the end of evolution
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