Beneath Floorboards.

Could not even provoke a reaction, really.

Maybe? Slight semblance of recoil?

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But ah, harder now to muster it for dead or dying things,

things well past their sell-by date.

And the other, yeah, another,

but really did that ever seem likely, no,

so let’s glance again at these photos, let’s sample the happiness (??) of others.

Let’s sit and feel our lack.

Our various lacks, gaps, negativities.

There is no route, no path, no hint of direction.

Only chasm, yawning chasm.

Only this, nor that. Only empty, just gap.

Yawning chasm and the Cloud of Unknowing.

Chasm’s yawn in the unknown cloud.

Cloud come downward for earth-sweep, cloud come to cover, enclose, hide, disguise.

Cloud become fog, fog become veil.

There is no route, no path.

It goes on.

Goes on.

Pathless, aimless, somewhere far off, the clock-tick.

Somewhere nearby, the alley that dead-ends at the longtime Inevitable.

Go there, then, or make like.

Through the cloud and fog, go then to what you know, or what you’ve divined--

What you divined so young.

Inevitable outcome.

Through cloud and fog, I go there regardless, it’s choiceless, it’s Inevitable.