Can cells sense something's wrong
when cancer starts?
The body as a whole
is self-contained, complete,
compatible in all its parts.
Its function, features, fate
are all maintained.
What is this maverick madness,
counter-fate, a tyrant spirit
rending all awry
to sap and warp,
confound and mutilate,
a manic mayhem
forced to multiply?
What kind of baneful guest
is so engrossed within the selfish
meeting of his needs
to damn his future,
jeapordize his host?
Now everything that eats
and s***s and breeds,
the very stars and and waves,
and wind and sand,
must dread our gaze,
the moving of a hand.