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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