I give you midget man:
the mite with purpose.
I give you the inexplicable
workings of a miniaturised brain;
the repetitious trawl of a mind
across one, same, vacant square.
I pass onto you the question:
what possible purposes
can a zig-zagging corpuscle of life
have:
the conundrum of protoplasm,
slime, albeit contained,
having somewhere to go?
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