The Great Fall

If bugs can carry disease
then why not information?
A mosquito is a flying disc
looking for the hard drive of blood.
Its virus binary,
only live or dormant,
only quiet in abeyance.
Its diamond head
waiting for a call,
waiting for a
pure finger to set upon.
How about this year,
this month, the ninth month?
Feel the month’s tummy—hear that?
The sound of a virus
piecing itself together is proof
that the Humpty story is worthless.
If consciousness itself
is the virus made manifest
then man isn’t the last
rung on the ladder;
he’s not the highest branch on the tree,
but the last step on the stairs
to the airplane
that’s gonna fly back through the
cold atmosphere
to some automaton oasis
nobody’s ever heard of.
Humpty Dumpty.
That fat egg,
that big fig.
What good was he in the first place?
Sittin on a wall,
waitin for the king’s men to arrive—
what did he ever do but fall apart?