I will have said, he thought, some wise,
In fact peculiarly wise, things before I die
Of foolishness and lies. What gives? What
Gave me the right to opine? Hypocrisy
Is the gift of the Lord, and messages
Are the Lord. Or, in an alternate version
Of uncertain provenance, ate the Lord.
Either way messages replicate and carry
The day. The ants were out for reproduction
And the winged drones kept lighting on me
And wandering, one would say, hopelessly,
Except that what is hopeless in the individual
Is, in the whole population, winning strategy,
And that's what people should really mean
When they think to say Darwinian. Poor man,
To have given his name to what horrified him
And hence, hypocrisy. Aii! Hence, hypocrisy!
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