… myself as the table circulates in a pile of nothingness. I was given to nothingness. Piles of nothingness. Measured by the unity of abysmal. Not the infinite. There is a difference. Like ripe mangoes and green. Turgid leaves and dried cones. Powdered into nothingness is the essence that serves a nucleus. With its electron and nuetron can I break the bond?
I stare at it — this victor of wars and my soul will soon be measured by the unit of abysmal as I become the product sans-sperm- sans-egg and leap into the nuclear fusion of atomic dsintegration.
I decide nay — why is the war over?
I tilt the table and the porridge falls…
…soon become cluttered blobs of shielded armour
nothingness is polluted…like bacteria colonies it has been infected by growth
and soon burns away
I have my spoon still my mouth
and the night pours out
with its seed-stars
planting along a mass of dawn in the shape of the morning sun…