Home erectus, remote starting point of the Iliad,
    wouldn’t it have been better if you dreamt on all fours?
Wasn’t the nightingale enough for you as it prayed
    among the aphrodiasic branches of the trees?
What the hell did  you want with the wanton Ode of the poet
    in his bitter and blood-shattered guts?
Now you lose beauty twice
    in a horrible uprooting, howling about life and art.
Ah mother what a tumbling down to grandeur . . .
    It must have been the savage erection I reflect
which gave you oh homo erectus the feeling
    of standing upright in this world.