Classic Poem

The day combustible as a
nightclub. Destruction works
in big, blunt gestures. An
explosion is no rediscovery, it's
return without guide to the
deepest sink hole from whence
hell's laughter issues. A
sucking into nothingness; void
behind the twin masks of
light and dark. Not repetition
but continuance. Pre-beginnings.
A precise point of death
qua death, not infinity but
limitlessness, pain's spectrum.