the quest of the unicorn

Elasmotherium haunts Russians' dreams
although we ate the last one long ago
the unicorn those little girls esteem
bore one straight horn (but not a single toe)
still, shamans dance with smilodons at night
long after we have ceased to be their prey
our minds fill in ancestral inner-sight
when we ingest enough MDMA
the mega-fauna of another age
still graven on the pathways where we think
succumbed to our grand-sires' flint-tipped rampage
and now are--overwhelmingly--extinct
we slew them then and lived to rue it now
who knows--some might be tastier than cow