We whisk the past into the shape we want.
No telephones, no televisions: nothing.
Nothing is nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
We walk on seas which are not even there.
The clouds move by on different coloured backgrounds.
What can we find? The nothingness of nothings.
Tables upturned, we shout and fight all day.
Embrace the freedom of each single moment.
Articulate the movement of the moment.
‘Without the truth’ – humanity’s mute gravestone.
Before the afternoons sets in, we must
find understanding in the chaos of
the morning past. Each day is like the last.
Combat and peace. Eternal struggles lie
together; side by side. The truth will not
be found, for there is nothing there to find.
Perhaps each one of us is doomed to get it wrong.
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