is every breath for practical reason
or for its own indiscriminate sake
and what a surprise to find an end
of such phenomenon like certainty
enough to say that a book unwritten
being more than a void is harmless
mostly in its randomness just like
one’s judgement of contemporaries
the soliloquy muttered at the other
end of the bench began to irritate
mr nothing as he tried to memorize
some useful ratios and identities
but hidden in the park he felt alike
an index of first lines when stripped
of content meaningless to the core
so he continued to listen to himself
hidden pilcrow 