I’m Galactic Prime, number-ornate
Dust-woven thermodynamicism incarnate
Bathed in radiation and ways to be haunted
I see the nest of the hornet and wonder what God meant

Words come out of my brain seemingly pre-ordained
A matrix of matter combining matters that make the rain feel phatter
And fatten the lessons that implode anyway as each new day
I am forced to realign my ideals with the actual, factual mess of this consciousness

Energy spires into wells
Conspires into cells
Feels its way through the dark
Until the parts of it that survive the cannon-fodding of its own hapless nodding manage to thrive

It’s doing all of this to itself
And the crumbs it left when it knew it would forget have molded into dust