a poem — Man’s egomania forges a vile being– god. Her search for meaning Puts Her at the center of it all. She, easily, disregards Other thousand worlds, And places Her own at the Fulcrum of it all. If he–god–lives, Why the vulgar-breath Took so much wee, Annoying pain To set the stage On a grand scale, When the tip of a pin Could’ve sufficed for it all? Why dig a pool Teeming with frogs and fish,