I hereby maintain there is a spiritual provenance
to every breathing blinking thing & every thing
that isn’t breathing, blinking – in the sinking
of our roots & the innumerable shoots from them
which breed and die and rot and dry to ash
to aid the fertile impulse which exacts from
muck-induced disturbance the rash furtherance
of our absurd collective soul; I say there iscollective soul & we are it – & we inordinately fit.