Collective preening: this culture, this civilization, the “person.” What was it that looked along the seam a few minutes ago? Was it called me? A sense of heaviness and a sense of the round dark all. Some me pervaded, cloistered stick man, campaign of breath and return. Experience is not wholesome, not unifying, unitary or religious. All contraries are unitary in their silliness. Break down to arms and bones.
An Italian-American Spaceman Foresees His Death:
Smashing against ashen walls, alone in space,/
Weirdly wired, mind warping/
Through the void, veering over/
The vapid edge of madness, mumbling aloud,/
"Per aspera ad astra, you young asshole./
It’s a rough road to the stars, Rotando."