THERE ARE NO FEET
ON THE PATH
And the earth is empty and void; and the
laughter is echoing from the hallways of some
clown king rolling on. Here is the light of the
world - apparently left behind, equal to Sin,
equal to a ball on a string, equal to waiting and
seeking all things. I will sit here with it, watching.
What I understand to be, will eventually come to
be; those things I cannot fathom will never happen
anyway. Why should I bother myself over trifles?
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