Little Kitten, Big Litter Box

Nebulas bloom, planets collide and comets zoom around the checker board like a bratty little brother on his new blue bike leaving snail trails of ice in his wake

Ancient cosmic afterbirth floats helplessly on its own inertia waiting impatiently for the next bullying gas giant to nudge it towards its next destination and I sit in a Thai restaurant basking in the curry, fretting over the uncertainty of the dawn

I need to arm myself like a rodent lower on the food chain readying itself for the next attack from all sides

The voice inside the box is certain that if I get what he has my armor will be complete, my hole will be filled, and the bombardment will cease

"This sweater does this, that gadget does those, and this magazine will address the most pertinent aspects of my dot, dot, dot, com" and I believe him! I don't want to but I do!

I am a little kitten in a big, shit filled litter box and I share this facility with a billion other fiercely independent felines who want badly to arm themselves too against the burdens of uncertainty and keep their paws clean in the meantime! Meantime, meantime, meantime
Yet the more I dig, the more I consume, the more I unfold, the less protected I feel

I am the spit on the hair of a son of an electron swimming around the nucleus of a cell inside the sperm of a killer bee and my purpose is as nebulous as why we've been bestowed with the capacity to give a shit