Through the quintuple-paned suburban lenses,
a universe of blind quiescence,
a bastard’s adventure, an infinitely finite generation
a binary life constructed, misconstrued
beeps, whirrs, flashes, a stack of bedside books bounded by the black Sag A*
incoherent fiefdoms of antiquity transmogrified into modernity
an infinitely finite personal library
an infinitely finite life to scrape the ancient words from their scum-ridden pages, alas,
no bijection exists
a book which contains all books contains itself
a life which contains all lives surely must contain itself?