The Way to Other People Lies Through a Void


The Alone flies through the storm alone
To find another Soul
It goes through things an sich and in themselves
It goes through the blackest hole

Your reality is a mystery,
The bones of your face:
My emails overstress my misery
In ignoring yours they lack a certain grace

That’s because they’re not only going through the Web
To appear on your Teletype at the Embassy
They transit Kant’s less than a void and a vacancy
And hermeneutics are MY responsibility.

The kids I shall assume are alright like the Who,
And I am too, I am too.
And all shall be well (all manner of things) shall be well.


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