I always liked going to the museum
The idea of permanence in art
For those of us with no children
Who have crucified ourselves on the Golgotha of ideas
Rather than the slow exhaustion of parenthood
The transference of dreams from generation to generation
Through flesh.

We transfer our DNA through our hands,
Not our genitals
Our lessons are reflected and fractally disseminated
Through what hangs silently on walls
Or in garages stacked high
Covered in dust
Feast for silverfish
Who carry our genius forth
The future aeons
Via wood, worms, and soil