Sitting, strangely pleased with his cacophony –
as if he were the product of a sneeze –
a god’s divine, unplanned, unpalatable allergy –
a rank mistaken circumstance, unmeant
and irredeemable, but here – he found
within his weirdly colored random angles
more than ample reason to feel cheer: to be
complex without significance was almost sweet.
This Existence thing might be a treat.
.
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