…this small sticky thing…

There is no solution
To a thing like being covered in tarry despair
Searching for respite in sticky flowers
Melting further into your hand than into the soil.

The planet feels it, and surely other planets
Feel it too, the wobbled curve
Of adventuring into nowhere with no idea
Where the other side begins, what it means

To glimpse at a total life on the horizon
Fractally multiplied
Rushing when your life halts,
Calling it quits when you're full of fury.

The soul of it all an epic decay
Until that nameless flower gets to be
A flower again, covered in nothing
But itself, such as it is.

The flowering dismal brilliance of human beings,
When they behold a flower
And even from this small sticky thing
Gasp and tremble and feel the floor plummet.

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