I immerse a gray, nearly-dead mind
in a spiritual reading, searching for,
longing to create a space of goodness
in my soul, which itself seems to drip
a blue fungal trail, spitting like a baby’s
room which had been prepared too
carefully, and I learn that we inevitably
view ourselves as far bigger beings
than we are, more important, even
more critical, but mostly bigger. And
how could we step aside and see our
part in the universe? So this grows
badly as I think of the genius writing
from the science guy who writes beautiful
fiction – he tells me that he wants
to feel more important than that part
that is a millionth of man’s concept
of the tiddly building block, the atom.
I make three steps in my hallway,
feeling my flesh disappear, my bones
are the tooth picks of an empty,
meaningless being who is so tiny,
his brain and his vocal chords
should be eradicated forever.

.