Archive
01/23/12 - (2)
Five Zillion Miles
Tonight, five zillion miles into metamorphic flight, My psyche overwinds, trying to triangulate its mission's position, Envision not so much its direction as its destination,
As if getting somewhere, somewhen or other, mattered, matters, When everyone within hearing distance of earshot's deafness Has known, knows, intuitively, intimately, indubitably,
That nothing could be closer to farther-from-the-truth, Rather that the terminus is insignificant, irrelevant, indeterminate, Compared with just going anywhere, everywhere, nowhere.
Tonight, at my hyperbolic imagination's synaptic speed of dark, All I can reasonably estimate is that in five zillion more miles, I'll arrive, whenever, wherever I'm destined to be or not to be,
And that merely being there or not, whenever, wherever, that is, Will be infinitely more eternally infinite Than anything I might have finitely invented to get me there.
In the end, the end of any endlessly end-over-end unendingness, Neither destination nor direction, not even just going, matters, Since nonexistence is the quintessence of nowhere, everywhere.
01/23/12 - (2)
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