The Dead Things

I see birds up high, cutting through the grey-white sky

What is different between them and the freely swimming schools of bacterium within my organs?

Am I not father to the clean and the unclean elements in my own body?

Whether I'm conscious or unaware, they are hosted in an ignorant bliss; oblivious to my view upon the microcosm and my wild imaginings

The All floats together as one soup and flows like blood through our common heart

I am an ocean facilitating symbiosis and chaos, where machines are devoured by white cells, and cast into the Abyss