and long we are
willing to practice
perfecting
the art of our own
insignificance.
With great, shiny ranks
of equations and
numbers
and quantum
computers that chew through
the syllabus,
we are reckless-
ly determined
as that crab they call Cancer
to see things as they
really are: devoid of all color,
smell, taste, and texture—
atomistic,
genotypic, quantized,
and molecular—in other words,
as perfect-
ly endurable
without us.
