Poems

Nothing-Stuff

Walking the streets of my eternal city,
a flame flickers out of view casting a coterie of dancing
shades across my eternal square. And suddenly, the nothing-stuff
speaks to me and I am no longer Eden; slightly smart, relatively well dressed
Eden; but instead I am covered in power armor and,
hurtling through a clouded binary star I
smash into the front line of the Bannerless Fleet and,
flickering with barely held energy I
bring death to the enemies of man.

Turning the streets of my eternal city,
a wind from a far away corridor envelopes the space around me
with whispers across my eternal alley. And suddenly, the nothing-stuff
speaks to me and I am no longer Eden; slightly well spoken, relatively popular
Eden; but instead I am holding a tattered herald and,
standing firm on a hill made of iron corpses I
scream for the volley and charge of the Hundred Sisters and,
roughly shaded with the air of command I
bring death to the children of man.

Unlocking the doors of my eternal city,
a warmth from inside my room suffuses my heightened senses
in a moment of returning to my eternal home. And suddenly, the everything-stuff
speaks to me and I am no longer Eden; slightly mannered, relatively educated
Eden; but instead I am drawing a silken pistol and,
feet firm on the roof where my house began I
breathe for the true shot and firm hit of Scintillia My Gun and,
boldly stroked by the red of a dawn I
bring death to the heir of man.

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