Point One

Point One i find is the beginning of every unthought question

what is inconsiderable and unfindable and indescribably nonexistent

simply put, it is nothing.

and nothing must have existed!

my heart gives a twang and i see the messy pigeons on the windowsill curse the cold chills of the wind

his hands, acrylic nails synonymous to sharp icicles

are unfriendly and the pigeons have seen enough of them.

they shake and seek sunlight, finding rest in the photographs taken of them by the curious tw0-leggeds

this is how the nothing began

and how unthought sentences are made possible by the unkindled fires

and sunken moonlight marshes of the dreams we thought we might have been nothing

but are far, far, more.