Root Cap

the mood of eternity

the substance of death is to be present
& proof is in each hole the pregnant worry as if
the promised opening is not time’s imperative
but it's transcendence—beset with this incomprehension
death is neither fertile or swollen & that is why
we are free to reason that death is forever

being's "neath"

corspe as embryo?

the past has yet to become the future that was
but don’t be fooled: the middle thing
is not a "now" but a swelling

the lawless

there is no embryo in the "profound" hole of absolute zero. there the ground temperature is eternity. but of the entirety there is no grave cold. the profound hole of utter emptiness is "round" with fire

necessarily unnecessary

in a universe universals never die—they are an absolute of life

of a universe it’s a coming to life when one dies that is all

for only the eternal, perfectly absolute, enforces the law

the complication of time

in paradise it is not the ignorant who wake as those who have survived
because in paradise those who are dead wake with life—it is like nothing, we
the ignorant, who survive, to die into what will be an eternity that was

"a" thing-in-itself

the divine is what ignorance lays claim to because this is where thinking
of the unknown is without thought (& what the dead take possession of)
(& what the thing-in-itself is not)

Socrates woke to sleep rather than walk with "the dead" precisely because sleep
is death to the examined life (only "the dead" deny the god advances) but in this Socrates sees that without the dead those asleep never wake to live

grave-ity

if the dead awake & those who wake sleep, than Lazarus is fire, the god wind or the immortal, sun-aroused & the resurrected, uplift cloud-covered—either without water defies what neither without heaven surrenders, otherwise the dead die from sleep & paradise's a dream

the sea

antinomy

the fire of sleep is not the light
by which a hole sees its way thru dark
the hole is what blinds the night—it sees to die
the fire of sleep becomes the eye—a hole found
in the star above that sees to life

internment

we bare an idea: in the dark (the cave)
are those who turn 'round because a fire ravishes
just as the dead turn “round” in a grave a god immolates
these, the midwife labors

if death is a shadow, the sun inspires the shelter
& since the shelter is without, the dark imparts that
which animates the fire—in this Empedocles was right
“the earth bears night by an internment of light”

the torch used to immolate the body of sleep is the body of sleep’s
dream of being—a fire the dark burns away as does life eternity

that which shelters a thing-in-itself is a knowledge a thing-in-itself knows
but this darkness is in knowing me—I who am denied all but the void

a pensioner

what we lean into we strain against

under heaven

the life we know shows the infinite when life is whole
only if life's a hole where the eternal is born—to die is the end
of forever & the death of sleep the fire of "things" below

the dark

heaven

a distance of such estrangement that space surrenders time the apprehension
any other than the above would mean nothing—this becoming that is everlasting

& yet it is with the living the fire of sleep wakes the becoming & who without place is the estrangement of here & there & without distance is not even the waste that fire leaves in its wake

star-light

Things-in-themselves kindle night. They put-out the sun.
An advantage sight seeks to follow—this path light takes
to extinguish what in sleep things-in-themselves ignite