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Extruded from a loving womb,

one is separate yet alive,

sweating at the fount of mother-milk

in an endless struggle

To survive;


Roaming a hostile peopled world

to find whatever proof one can

of storied human kindliness

and love for other than

the Self;


Where food and shelter and justice,

Are always private property

bought and sold cynically

with lies and bartered


Among shards of broken nations,

damned by a million jealous gods,

for greed and sanguine sinning

innature’s cruel race,

Or Winning,


One may reasonably conclude

on iterated reflection

that every being, object, truth,

is an existential iteration

Of the Self,

That waits for life or time to reveal

if on this floating crust of earth

we’re cursed by eternal death,

or life, or only by

Eternal Birth.



*  Aleph-null, the smallest infinite cardinal number   .





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