A pulsar, beating away in deepest space,
Sounding out its dead chronology.

The fell beast slouches no more: it is born!
Yes, it is born, and walks among you,
And you see it not!

Like flies they are ****** about,
The churning of the oceans sends them
Spinning outwards, the outer wall
Making its presence felt with
A resistance vague yet firm.

Into this ever widening, pulsating
World, with its
Regularization, like prison bars of time
And space gripping you, parcelling
You into regular cubes, the
Common atoms for the
Common people,
Into this are you ******,
Headlong and without choice,
Without precedent,
Being forced to
Retreat from retreat,
Naked and hungry,
To find what you can,
And salvage what you can,
Of it and
Of you.