I will put those critters in their place. I will turn the world
inside out. Turn wolf into dog. Learn. I will learn the world.

My cave’s but nascent condo, my arms thrown rocks for starters.
See this lightning strike lecture how to slash-and-burn the world.

Gaur becomes cow. Macaw becomes headdress. Elephant, spear
then grand piano. It’s all very much my concern, the world.

If the hunting is exhausted or too exhausting here,
bloody right I’ll go there. I’m hardly out to churn the world.

Mistakes, sure. There have been problems with rats and many things
too small to see. But I hang in there. I don’t spurn the world.

Take the garden. Early work, and no mean feat. Putting plants
in rows brought neat sliced bread and more, machines to quern the world.

This cuts that. I’m cold, that cat can be my coat. There’s water
under dust. As you can see, actually, I yearn the world.

A tracing finger in the dirt made a huge but quiet
bang. Numbers: a brand new liquid. Now I can CERN the world.

There are headaches. Eels, goats, butterflies, they’ve got no worries,
no loose particles, no lost bits. Me, I can urn the world.

It’s a sexy gas—revved up by the voltage, the chutzpah,
the wiles, the nads, the art and the oomph to adjourn the world.