Fact of the matter is that matter’s naught

Hard edges an illusion of suspended animation

It’s not about fingertips to fingertips

Or even tongue to tongue liquidity

When you get down to it

Really down to the minutia

Where solids become constellations

Small points within large spaces

We hold more room than we imagine

Voids of emptiness held together by faith and hope

Universes of possibilities contained within perceived limits

Even more outside

Beyond imagination where divinity normalizes


So that there are no limits to restrict potentialities

Infinity is alpha and omega wide

Everything and nothing



David Trudel  ©  2013






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