On what physic rests your
conception of
self?

What law to be kind, or honest?
What momentum is it that hurls us
into memory?

Yet, I, in the molecules ...somewhow,
am.

Only one of the selves must be meaningless,
dying with it's name.
Understanding time, as the hunter knows it;
Knowing from the start, where it goes.

The certain void?
Irony is no more inevitable
than getting the wrong answer.