Saturday, September 10, 2005


There are a great deal of workers, several couple of soldiers, a huge number of slaves, and an one queen, that's all. All of them are the trappings of royalty and agriculture. Having watched with extremely attention a documentary on africans ants I begin to question why you would take offense and hurt at being called “antlike.” Such ingenuity and cool precision, willingness to get along with your cohabitants who, genetically and environmentally speaking, are also like you. What you're lacking diversity when you make up in artistry, easy enough when every move is a dance. You attack in legions, colonize whole continents. You are the dream of the Republic realized and suddenly gone.

Like Etruscan, your language is indecipherable. I know this much: you herded cattle made small by memory; your banquet-floor mosaics depicted scraps and bones — no need to clean up. Coins under the tongues of the dead paid for passage, so I have no choice but to feed you the quarter you saw coming. You, well-off, engraved skeletons on chalices as a reminder of mortality, that the soul exists and exits through the mouth.