In This World (poem)

There are things in this world we cannot explain.

Nor should we, if you know what's good for you.

Countless assassinations, common murders, skullduggeries, and assorted sordid deep dark state doings,

And, of course, Love being an a**hole.

We are omnivores, and, of course, that sucks eggs.

Mr Smith in The Matrix called humans parasites

And that brings a chill.

But not as much of a chill as the idea

That our water-based bodies are rainforests filled with alien microbes, viruses up the yin-yang, and bacteriological gangsters in turf wars, who control us and our thoughts like Mario Puzo's meatpuppets on a string,

And Love

And Consciousness, with all of their faces,

Can't save us from the aliens we are,

Even to ourselves.

There are things we should not want to know.

Nietzsche said that,

So you know it's still true for a while longer.

In the meantime, we must endure a**holes.

And their sh*t-eating grins.