The ancestral diet of Stars, being Other Stars
has left no scars, save open black and yawning vast.
No retrograde Oblivion... only galactic swirls
and elastic Space between worlds. that never last.

and Eternity.

my modernity nips and pleats my yellow teeth
after long whitening by paste and bristle. i chew the gristle
of the dead sow
and club the weaning pups of Cerberus
with an eyelash and a long blink.
i tread the narrows, flatly -
and conquer the quizzical  conundrums
by simply asking.  
My Rocket Science... laughing
at your grecian urn
to paint the herrings red.

i'm out of my depth.

but yes means 'yes' and we ' no' it.

if Nothing else.