Insecticide #13

It rests
in the balances
of God;

Only swaying slightly
by my own measurements–
quantum measurements,
isolated, numbed approach.

Implosion and held between
forefinger & thumb; a speck of dust,
cosmic dust; debris left over
from the Big Bang.

My Big Bang,
an oscillating cycle
of love and death,
persuades you not
towards epiphany.

Your craving for love
does it rival your craving
for stability; and are these
mutually exclusive?

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