Just One Megabyte

Aug. 12, 1998

At the extremities
All tingles with delight
All along the middles
It bundles up so tight
At the center I retreat
In horror from the sight

For at that hollow core
Survival, only, is a fight
Winning is not possible
Though I wish I might

Onion skin
That bitter fruit's flaky crust
Peel back layer after layer
As you think you must
You'll find no middle onion
No matter who you trust

You'll cry, you will
As your precious fruit is crushed
Embracing black soil
In your murderous lust
It will get salty from your tears
And turn to dust

I fill the empty and ensure
The lines are clearly drawn
For without the lines
What sense of things could we spawn?

But to our outside there is an inside
To our dusk a dawn
And to our black there is a white
To our vigor a yawn
To our line there is a field
And to all there is only one

At the extremities
All tingles with orgasmic delight
All along the middles
It bundles up so very tight
At the center I am greeted
With a feeling oh so quiet

For at that center survival
Is considered rather trite
Winning is not possible
It's just a way to call the fight
So I play our game forever now
It takes up just one megabyte
And sometimes I wish that I may win
Or even that I might

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