The devilled-details are cogs fantasizing of expanding the void.
The void turns skin into a mere packing for tissue and muscle under the watchful hubris of the physician pretending to do physics.
The hubris that is born out of fealty to the grammar of un-reason posits the monotonous automaton.
If the automaton is clever enough to sound funny, its joke is tone-deaf to the sentient, to the howl and nay of experience.
The abstraction that shuns experience begets the hate that births the convergence of the cogs into the machine.
no grief is woven into the life of rivers bending time into an imagined ashbubble no grief has time to weave the river into nothingness no warmth is brief enough to breathe grief as if tomorrow was a reflection of unsmallable morrows wrapped into the wormholes of now -