This place, my home,
narrowing to the width
of a sick dropping falling
from a sick hole.
Or, it was always this way
and I’ve gotten bigger —
not much, but enough
to see difference
between what I used to think
was vast and what I see now as
already small but tapering off even more
before it falls to the bowl,
the smell noticeably
more acid than rose,
now that I know
what a rose can be.
Dark Matter 
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