One Great Ghastly Parasite Inhabiting the Rock

What is moving through flesh, exactly,
If even genes are temporary
Holding cells for shifting strategies?

What’s the big idea? Well, actually,
What’s any idea made of, really?
What emptiness is moving freely

Around in organic chemistry,
As if life could mirror gravity?
What’s to blame for life forms’ agonies,

Capacities, and catastrophes?
What ends up in the cemeteries
Is not what slips away, merrily,

Into more material bodies.
Why praise spirit above what’s beastly?
As parasites go, spirit’s ghastly.