hear the Gnostic winds of unknowing:
knowledge that stutters in the sludge of the slow.
decrepit reasoning, ruined discrepancy - a flow
under the thunder of nobody’s awe.
Noema and Oracle bound by the number:
past the Numeral Psyche - no one bids adieu.
this axial age runs the nothing of nature -
and the knowledge oraxial dismembers the gods
of a bygone matrixial rage.
this is Oraxiom: a poem of Nemo,
the axiom of grief - this was Oraxiom:
the mindless parerga of an anonymous thief.
know the shit of cogito, see the murder of non,
your lugubrious season comes to naught: your
oraxial grief is infinitely none.
philosophical workers walk the landscape of meaning and
past all the horizons any seer loses all vision alone - the sham
of all Oracles is now perpetually being undone by Axioms and
Oraxioms unilated in the black cosmosis of nobody’s non-