The glittering nowt
Comes pouring out of days
It is an eruption of nothing
It is nix taken to extremes
It is the absence of an echo
In a rocky passage from the
High Sierras of intention
To the daily Badlands
And it glitters and how it shines:
A polished lump of zilch
That lodges in the vessels
Of a blood capable of
Counting the sides of a
Circle and capable of waiting
For nothing to happen
Until nothing happens,
When the glittering becomes
Sexy pointless wasteful blinding
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