“Ah thus, my life – a circle – from which I’ve been the dot, Expansion of a vision, in spiralling a knot, It’s not as what it seems, a strife that I must have ought In meanings of a whole; - nor endlessness I sought! – Unnecessary dreams! By madness, driven out by thought, Without a reason why – without a need, to know, Nor to believe a lie, as neither gods to bow – As deeper, as it goes, the squeezing of that whole To such an understanding, in filling up that hole; But I – the dot – again, without to even wonder How long has been since so alike the rumbling thunder, I fall in time and space, electrified rolling, The rawest of them all – a beast! – unleashed from the knot From which an abyss rise, beyond that world – and growling, Without the urge of such a breath of fury, I am what I am not!
You tell me who am I – for I don’t know what’s in; - I’ve never had a reason, for asking what’s between, Nor I, to even dare, to seek a depth, in all, For such an endless knotting of what it binds that whole, As everything that shatters my world is just this dot Who tells me what I am. I know then what I’m not. Enclosure to a circle?! Does not belong to lines, As all I’ve seen in nature, is rhythm! to which aligns, By dots and curves, - o, meaning! - alike these rotten vines, To which in a seclusion, there’s language within signs!..”