Extracellular Children and Other Weird Products of Metabolism

Aren’t we all? Every poem, every trace,
Every track, tract, townhome, exosome,
Every hopeless case and anxious face.

It’s so hard to live without losing
Something to some other living things
Along the way. Goes without saying,

Really does. Most lives refuse to say
Anything about what they’re losing
To the other lives along the way.

Just build something close to the highway.
Try to get rid of all of your waste.
Try not to give the good stuff away.

When levees break or faults liquefy,
When sheriffs show up to evict you
Who can’t be bribed by what you can pay,

When the black mold makes itself at home
With the latest invasive blood ants,
Or when you’re just so sick of the place,

Make yourself a little poem, and place
Yourself in its mobile vesicle,
And pinch yourself off and drift away.