Back From a Jog

It’s spiritual out my window.
Time to think of the universe
and how we are but hackey sacks
at the cosmic Bonnaroo concert.
So small, so meaningless, so many,
kicked around for no reason
but the entertainment of our high Gods.

Sweat drips from my nose
to the wooden floor
where hundreds of ants crawl
over the peel of my grapefruit.
I scoop it up and toss it,
ants and all,
into the garbage.

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