all in all
a thin line of conversation
where everything seems like a batallion of utterance and speech
seems a cold war behind the veil
that small circles need bigger ones
and bigger fish eating smaller ones
the cane that fell of sage's hand doesn't add up
to the fact
that this ash we will soon become will dwindle and diminish as
we pass away in solitude
and the grain of memory
the same memory that enlivened our
flux
initiated us into the world of indifference
and angered by the wave of smooth deliberation
the phantom mash of the patterns weave into what we call
ourselves
smug operator
of someone else's "life"
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