Doctor, you do not see the world I see.
I am a refugee three billion years in the future
where the red monster sun has boiled away the oceans
and nothing survives on the rock but an evolved cockroach
which has learned to employ tools, and calculate the cosine,
and fuck over its neighbor. It cries too, the cockroach. It knows
the world is ending. If its feelers tickle your face,
if it causes you to gag, do not judge it too harshly.
It only wants what everyone wants, to be obliterated. Strike
the heel of your boot against the rock, consummate the marriage.
It won't be much longer. The sun is hungry. I have laid
my invertebrate body over the dead land. Even a cockroach
knows when it has forfeited its existence. Even a cockroach
is but a corruption of God.