is prolific

and brings

us the feels of skittishness.
It is killing us

around the globe,

from Pacific Ocean

full circle

to Pacific Ocean.
It’s not mere fiction.
It sickens us.
The experience is equivalent to clinically dying. Or so the brain believes.
It thickens the plot.
It’s what gives grief,

gives loss

their acidic magnificence.

A specific case I have in mind, is my own avoiding writing,

forgetting to consciously add even the mention of it,

to my collection of poems.
What tickles me back into

clicking me back into

permitting myself

to give insignificance due diligence,

is to see how it makes terrific sense as a citizen why there are presidents

and scientific evidence

and the need for constant forgiveness and the cheering of us on.

We are innocently oblivious to our own human insignificance.
And yet, we can enrich ourselves,

by being empathetically analytical

and in humbly saying Bye Bye to believing

we are more important than chickens.

©️ February 2025 Much Love, Deb Poems