The most small and meaningless death serves

as messenger of your own, although reading

its entrails is nearly impossible in its message

of time.



The gnat you squeeze shut between your

fingers bears your fingerprints for a moment

on its fluids who were never meant to meet

your flesh, but so marked, bear your message

to the world how you are a killer every day

until you yourself are killed, most likely

by your own body who bears a disease

currently smaller than the gnat.



It is love that runs the human world . . .

at odds with the universe who loves

only change.