The Evolution of Nothing...
By Belle Green
The Evolution of Nothing
Last night there was nothing,
all purpose had been delayed,
abandoned to the unworkable,
whom I'd rendered invisible
even the celebration of beat
that rises through the words
and phrases of language, was
silent to the rhythms.
Many stalk what shapes people’s
lives, scrawled and spawned
by the weaving of fantasy into
those specks that pattern stars,
before they suffer first,
and die in pain, their carrying
capacity a kind of faith, a reliance
on karma that exponentially
the interaction of opposites. I
first felt the droplets of rain after
poisoning the reservoir, drunk on
the silence of the lowering sky.
There is eternity in an eon,
but it has nothing to do with time.
I spin the pendulum. I hold the
prism. I write the biologically
I emerge from skepticism. I am
the notion that the universe is
self-regulating, that the individual
holds the power. I am impetuosity
without hope, desensitized.