Tag Archives: evolution

The Answer

Maybe love isn’t the answer
after all
to the question of happiness
which was never part of the plan
when the cells
that would become us
were dividing into our ancestors
who never knew how easy
life would be in the future
with sharp tools and wheels
and gods
we are no longer required
to believe in or praise
for giving us a desire for love
that many of us will never find
so it seems like a good idea
to bury our hearts
in a mass grave dug
with a mass-produced shovel
and seek unconditional devotion
in the divine and perfect form
of cat or dog.










Evolution of Love


In the beginning
love was a single
perfect apple.
One bite promised to satisfy
the years of desire
that lay ahead—
and there was no one else
to startle you with their intellect
or give meaning
to the word temptation—
but when time blunted
the sharp edge
of your lovers charm
you saw that there were
others with a kind of beauty
you hadn’t noticed before—
and you began to wonder
if the fascination felt for you
might be waning too—
if curiosity and a desire to explore
might be the reason
your lover never feels
fully present
when they’re beside you.
And so for decades you worry
that you’re not enough
for each other
until one day
a confession comes out
slowly like a snake
descending carefully
from the highest
most precarious branch.
There was another fruit
from a forbidden tree
that had long ago been tasted—
and when you hear this
it isn’t jealousy that burns you,
but a regret that you hadn’t
given in to the equal cravings
you denied yourself—
that you hadn’t taken
your own reckless bite
when you had the chance.
But by now, you are fully clothed
in a kind of love
that can’t be shaken off
or diminished
by such trivialities.
You smile as you imagine
how exciting such a trespass
must have been in the 20th century—
but here in the 21st century
there are microwaves
that can offer you buttered
popcorn in minutes
and you want nothing more
than to be entertained
for the rest of the evening
with an account of
exactly what happened.


DeMaris Gaunt




Metamorphosis, Evolution, Deconstruction – Call it Whatever the Fuck You Want

Metamorphosis, Evolution, Deconstruction –
Call it Whatever the Fuck You Want

You leave again
and I watch as the pattern
that forms around our union
becomes prettier and softer
like the hem of an old flannel shirt.
It’s been years
since we raised our voices in anger—
when the color red
seemed to paint the iron walls
of our tiny bedroom.
You used to leave indignantly
and furiously with both sets of keys
while I worried that the children
were still awake in the sanctuary
of their beds.
You always came home
with a bouquet of apologies,
and I would pretend
we were both to blame—
which was only sometimes true.
Eventually, I learned that turning
from red to blue – from hot to cold
was a more tolerable way to live
with the unwelcome
accoutrements of marriage.
Today, there was no rage.
There was no yellow serenity or calm—
Just a quiet blue indifference
when you made your exit
into the pink horizon.
I imagine one day I will watch you leave
and hope you never come back.
But today is not that day.


DeMaris Gaunt

Photo Credit:
Andrew Cockayne

The Dawn of Man

The stick.

How long did it lie on the ground
before some curious, hairy human
picked it up, reached into the tree
with an astonishing new arm,
straight and long with an accurate aim?

The fruit fell down.

How long before it caught on?
Until everyone else saw the sense in it,
the way it made life a little easier,
a little more fun?

Was it unintentional,
that first violent contact?
The stick coming down accidentally
on the head of a brother,
the fruit rolling away
from the splatter of blood.

Such an event must have ignited
some pre-fire temper
that swelled into an agonizing grunt,
and though there were no words yet
for apologies,
it was clear what kind of pain was possible
with this new tool.

Imagine, now, the others,
open mouthed,
slowly backing away
from the one who made the accidental blow.
And when his reason
told him to show them the culprit,
he raised his stick above his head.

When they shrank to the ground
and covered their heads,
he felt the rush of control
and was the first to realize,
before language could explain it,
that creating fear was a kind of power
which would never be improved.


DeMaris Gaunt