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.