The Human Race

The face of a human,

a repetition of selves conjoined

like a centipede;

sexless and nondescript

stretching back to a tiny tail;

an embryonic pupae that bloomed

from a primal catechism

and will end with apocalypse

at which point it will be born.

Like hydra we are so many heads

branching from this entity,

craning around to query

'what is that behind me?'

As though I did not know

that I was looking at myself.