Razvan Morar, Self Portrait as Zero

You might say I’m nonplused when

I turn towards the nihility meted between

A nullipara and a neutered man.

 

Am I entirely possible?

 

I deny the lingering echo of immodest moans

Inside the neglected thoughts that return from abnegation.

 

Don’t mind me,

I just need to ingest the modulus from Medusa’s hair.

 

If I had her head molded on my commode

I could meditate on her empty stare.

It would do me solid good

To modulate historical vacuity,

To leave moulages of Diomedes in stony traces, on a beach,

In Limbo, because I can.

 

Moderately modest readers always modify me.

I’d never see the remedy coming, or the medicine going.

I nod to Nietzsche’s rippling “no”.

What a naughty renegade to know.

 

Will I, nil I, be in this nefarious modern nescience?

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