Maybe it’s true, as they say,
That my totem animal is the amoeba
Loose of edge but with a nucleus of sorts
Like my totem, I lost my phylum at the waning
Of the twentieth century as the system
Took a closer look into the petri dish
Stealthily darting around on my pseudopod
One step ahead of natural selection
My wall-less-ness inspires dread
And repudiation for the abomination
Of unpredictability and unnameability
Insufficient assurances for the archive
A pariah to the mapping drive
My permeable I slithers yet persists
And resists, combines, fuses and refuses
Jollyful sedimentation into a new geological Era.
Pina Piccolo, Imola, June 30, 2024