i whirl within the wherefores of my wonder
still coming at me are the satellites, the comets, the debris —
i am at home here, though my longing knows no boundaries now, no aim
knows no deliverance from thought, from search for meaning
would my soul took over
would my skin shirked not the touch, would i felt this fear of losing were not real, this holding on, this
need for explanations, this
ever to surrender to what is: what is this if not ice not gas not water and not energy, what is
reason holds me, holds me in or back; then back from what, back where, back to what end?
is there an end?
there’s no beginning, then how is there
(<) THE ICE KING — 7: The Beginning
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