Under Heaven

There’s a gray line—would you call it
Anthropomorphizing to name
A human cancer? It’s human,

After all, human cells to start,
Whatever rogue mutations spin,
Genetically connected

To the neighborhood it devours.
It’s a changeling. It’s not unlike
A fetus (new being from old),

Ravenously commandeering
Its close-kin host to feed itself,
But a doomed rebel from the start,

Incapable of a free life,
Certain to be killed by the host
Or to die along with the host.

How human could it be? A pet
Has more personality. A fungus
Is a better analogy.

And yet, it is wholly human.
It had a kind of conception,
One new monster under heaven.