pity this busy monster,manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim(death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness
- electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange;lenses extend

unwish through curving wherewhen till
unwish returns on its unself.
                      A world of made
is not a world of born - pity poor flesh

and trees,poor stars and stones,but never
this fine specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence.  We doctors know

a hopeless case if - listen:there's a hell of a
good universe next door;let's go

                         - e.e. cummings