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The Celebration of Nothingness

It is the celebration of Nothingness
where I always feel the bliss
–though I would dance most wildly
at His Sable Majesty’s birthday parties.
And, like the wisest ones, I like to live
an insipidly wordless, stoic life.

I had an accomplice, as well,
a jumpy-jittery geezer.
‘Hurry, hurry,’
He would often urge me and lamented,
that I was a somnambulist
and he was only a figment.

But when we arrived at the meadow,
where every assertion is a quiet, woeful corpse,
he just spat and trudged staring at the ground.


About the Darkness

Dust swarming into Nothingness,
a weird figure of a sunken object,
secret theses of a circular epidemic
on the Moon and on a flickering neon sign.

The Earth is a lair, suspended on a blind void,
the white and black side of a coin.
Still, nothing is so dark
as the thing which flows out from the heart,
when it hands over its place to something else.