The Poem Is the Story (1)

Sometimes a story is like a beehive. Sometimes an idea
is like a poem. The common threat appears to be humanity,
but really it’s gestalt. Or ennui. A woman slips
a microcosm up her skirt. Where’d it go?
Nobody knows, but what goes up must
come down, and so her underpants, stained with comet fire.
My best guess at the future is total annihilation
of the ego. To think is to string popcorn
on fishing wire and hang the finished product in a doorway.