Tuesday, September 2, 2014


Each breath is borne by the mysterious
Cooperation of many millions
Of oxygen-burning little lives.

We call this cooperation "lungs."
Or we call it the sign of life.
Does it matter if it's matter?

We seem to mostly think so.
We inhabit a parable about ourselves.
A tiny, flickering phosphorescence

Twinkled at the crest of a long, dark wave.
Below and generating that glow
A million billion monsters grew

And bred, divided and warred
And consumed one another, until
They burst from the inevitable

Obesity brought on by insufficient
Waste. Ruptured suffering
Broke loose as a vast intake, a gasp,

And lights flickered from that foolish fire.
The moon, indifferent cluster of fractures,
Rose and drowned the yearning.

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