The End of the Cretaceous in Nazi Germany
At times our ids rise upward and become
A sort of luminescent threat like prints
Upon the shore of dinosaurs. A dumb
Impression haunts us. The three-clawed track glints
With something previous to evil. This
Trail, phosphorescent only if we let
It rise to consciousness, declines to hiss
Until the ego fails to stop the threat
By calling in our higher brain to blast
The snarls and fangs. A comet needs to rip through
The scene and bring catastrophe. Aghast,
The reptile scales return to the taboo
Or superego collapses. The soul
Of life is crushed beneath an Arctic pole.