The Dancing Ghost

poem

Atheist to the core, but
sometimes the ghost in
the meat makes me wonder.

What a strange waltz, these
atomic particles assembled into
something monetarily aware.

Once the stage lights pop and fizzle
to darkness all that amazing chemistry
disassembles and rides out its days at the
bottom of a tiny gravity well in a minor
galaxy, in a universe that may or may not
be infinite and alone.

That I can know this in all its weird
truth takes the fire and sting right
away from death’s dark tongue.

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