GENESIS

by Preston Mark Stone

And God said, let there be random spontaneous cloning.
And my pants fell from me and flowered
into cotton. My shirt leapt from my shoulders
and crumbled into worms. Saplings cracked

through my desk, and worst of all
the pillow, writhing open, exploding with ducks. Naked,
I cowered from their primitive eyes, their sudden
vibrant bills snapping like shears in the pine grove
of my room. The kitchen gave birth to pigs, chickens

and a single mysterious doe, who thundered
through the undergrowth and onto the fire escape.
Outside, a Cadillac, roof ripped open, seats
reduced to stuffing and spring. A silver-haired man
ran naked down the street, and on his heels, snorting
livid air, the bulls.