"All great literature",

my well-read
and Falstaffian friend said
(with jovial authority)
"is about sex and death".
I laughed because he was
right, and I sighed
because he was right.
Haven't we worn these ancient,
tiresome subjects out
yet?
Are these really the greatest
of all dramas, the ones
that happen when
either genitalia are
thrusting
or knives are?
Haven't all the myriad
secrets of the heart been
laid bare by now?
Haven't all the terrible
paths of glory been trod
a hundred times over?
And then I realized that Reptile Brain
and Dog Brain still rule the world.
Ape Brain simply tries to figure out
how to cope with them
and to clean up the mess
they always leave
behind.
And Ape Brain will
always like trying to
explain
what the hell happened
at least one more time.