Sunday, October 11, 2009

Everywhere there is unlimited space

Except here where space is limited

The world is lost in the whooshing void

Up close a cluttered ball of noise

I can listen to two different noises

The empty hum of massive being

Or the clattery bustle of our puny selves

Either is what can propel me

Or serve as accompaniment

To the slow graceful arc

Of my dying.

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