Rome Must Be Destroyed Poem by Byepolar Bayer

A handful of dirt tossed in the air
tells us nothing,
tells us everything.
Microbes grown from next to nothing
into a monumental mind,
the planet become a useless buzzing head
spinning itself a billion lies,
we orbit the sacred self,
a web of morons.

At Zama did Scipio commit us?
Or did Cicero light the fuse with a word?

- with the dirt in the air
our little eternity
turns on the whim of the wind.