there are zero matadors
dancing on zero tables
fighting zero ferocious bulls
zero bloodthirsty spectators
carried by zero flying carpets
yelling zero metaphysical truths
and the zero of the countdown
makes much of such nothings
as zero approaches in secret
the flip of a dread switch
when everything happens
and the crowd goes wild
at the slaying of the bulls
while the matadors dance
while we fly into oblivion

Leave Your Response

You must be logged in to post a comment.


The Great Blasphemy