Zen and the art of Mitosis Prophase Tell me, which way is up? I have lost my perspective. I am still waiting for a want like water, like air. I have spent days theorizing and I have theorized: You speak hyperbolically and I cannot translate, I cannot simplify. Metaphase I have discovered my abstract: Feet for standing Mouth for speaking Eyes for seeing Brain for dreaming - Senses for sensing. I am no longer umbilical. Anaphase In the back of my mind I am still dancing with your ghost. But I have realized, admitted to myself, that it is time for you to go and play Jesus to another. Security was the ballast that chained me to your feet for so long. Telophase And so you wane and never wax, You ebb and never flow. You are split into two, identical in every way, down to the sterile embrace you extend to a waist after long periods of absence