CORN

There are millions, at least, ways that you and I can live our lives:

There's the hard way.
There's the hard and fast way.
There's the easy way.
There's the Way of the Warrior.
There's the Way of the Hen.
There's the way of any of a million different ways to say God.
There's the white way.
There's the yellow way.
There's the way we used to live life on South Niagara Way.
There's my way today.
And there's my way yesterday.
There's the wrong way.

And there's the way that so most approaches the single absolute norm of all ways that we can't help but look at it, glowing bluely and serenely in the sky about our heads.
And it ends, this way, exactly like every one of the other ways:

unchanged in shape,
but visibly sullied,
like a kernal of corn on its way our of the lower intestine.