There’s a void in the pit of my chest;
An emptiness, but even less;
A cold that hit absolute zero
And kept going down
Making all the atoms turn the wrong way round
Making them anti-matter or something
Or a black (w)hole into which all matter is pumping
But not like that because it has no mass.
It has anti-mass
And anti-gravity
that pulls things apart.
It has anti-mass
Where the Blood is unshed, the Body unbroken
And I am unforgiven.
3/29/04
Benjamin Cline
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