The several elements,
All things through and through and through itself
There you are in the middle
No, off to one side
And you're nowhere
Navel-gazing at your veiled intestines, no...
Pick them up off the floor.

No convention is necessary
It shatters, erupts in flames, turns to ashes
Gets passed along to itself
Cycles black or ultraviolet

We need to come together and act weird
Drawn and quartered by gleaming cities
Like an ancient Picasso beneath rubble that's not here yet
Nothing will happen,
It will be fantastic.