The sixth day

(Take the wine cup of this fury at my hand,
and cause all the nations, to whom I send
thee, to drink it)

Each component named and muttered;
pain, on pinioned pads of words, is known and
labelled, synthesised.
In numbers we discern a metaphysical
necessity, which far outstrips our knowledge -
the numbers are accounted inconceivable,
and whether they are seeded with disease or
centred in a fungus cloud
whose spores spread parasol,
I cannot comprehend their passing.
These many petty dyings
seethe now, stirred by apathy, by
a self-unknowing solipsism deep inside the
users of the names
          (here is, sullen, a
          surviving sense that
          someone else is real -
although not too important).

( to the contents page.)