all that’s seen and felt of what there is of what it means to be. And feel the vacuum all part of me, the grand oscillation between supernovic firework blowup of glow and implacable crush of
cosmic black hole, a breathtaking mass converting to energy
conserving back all done by quiet crash as silent as the footsteps on pavement of an ant, fellow earless blind bastard to all that’s grand. And yet, tell yourself, I recommend, twas great having been part of it then, knowing in some sense as explicable as its existence thou
shalt remain, like Sumerian cuneiforms of old or sand buried
heiroglyphs confess from desert abodes the endless yen for suns untold, for planktonesque flotsam floats the foam of shoreline’s heaving rockhewn churn, beneath the icy mounts of silent sleet and greenglass needle trees complete.

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