Shore Fit for Pandemonium

Every human nonsense has its palace,
Every human notion an origin,
However false, ridiculous. Humans
Can't think except in ends and origins,
Despite inhabiting an endless world
With no actual full-stop origin.
As a result, we peer around dimly,
Keen of vision but dull interpreters,
Provisionally identifying
This or that bit carrying on as fit

For the location of the beginning
Or end of all our exploring, Eden,
Hell, Home. Darwin's Galápagos Islands,
Nightmare Pandemonium for Fitzroy,
Now serve an enduring tourist fiction
Like the Sepulchre or the Bodhi Tree,
A little pilgrimage to imagine
Here is where all that wonderful began.
All the demons we've ever imagined
Congregate around the first or last act.