Even now, as my fingersTurn incised in time,As my eyes fall uponThe dusting of artificialSweetener some carelessHand forgot, I wonderOn the involute silenceOf empty space.      A neverSilent silence. BespottedAlways with the stigmataOf an omnipresent hum. This hum is not unlikeThe hum of industryBut for its source— its sourceLies hidden deep in the earth,Or perhaps it originatesIn…

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