Speak the language of the puzzling tongue.
Black holes are the breath of God divided by zero.
Study the visual symphony of null and void...
...captured in the One Eye of the post-negative hero.
And in the distant spaces of my sense of where and when…
All hands high.
The circle burned into their shaking eyes;
spurred on into flame by the folding of the five.
A birth of fists, thrusting for the fight.
A scream of air punched into rage.
A single orouboros of the nothingness infinite.
Rising amid the flow of desperation’s sighs.
Heralding the rise of meter and rhyme.
Even now, placebos dress in the violence of abandoned songs;
sonnets spit before distracted gods.
The half-cocked gun of a new religion,
firing sexual bullets and dirty words.
This is the revolution of halos broken by the fall.....rising into the neon burn of a sterile world.
Et in Arcadia Ego.
So begins the poetry of zero.